The Autobiography 
of a Super-Tramp 












THE NEWEST BORZOI BOOKS 

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By Orrick Johns 

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By Dorothy Richardson 

CENTRAL EUROPE 

By Friedrich Naumann 

CRIMES OF CHARITY 
By Konrad Bercovici 

THE BOOK OF SELF 
By James Oppenheim 

RUSSIA'S MESSAGE 

By William English Walling 

THE ECHO OF VOICES 
By Richard Curie 

THE BOOK OF CAMPING 
By A. Hyatt Verrill 

MODERN RUSSIAN HISTORY 
By Alexander Kornilov 

THE RUSSIAN SCHOOL OF PAINTING 
By Alexandre Benois 

THE JOURNAL OF LEO TOLSTOI (1895- 
1899) 

THE COLLECTED POEMS OF 
WILLIAM H. DAVIES 













THE AVTOBIOGRAPHY 

OF A SVPER- TRAMP 

BY WILLIAM H. DAVIES 
PREFACE BY BERIiARDSHAW 



NEW YORK 



i^CMXVll 



ALFRED A. KNOPF 





COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY 
WILLIAM H. DAVIES 



col 






PSIKTED IM THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 

MAY 1? !9I7 

©CI,A-U)U742 



Preface by 
Bernard Shaw 



PREFACE 

I HASTEN to protest at the outset that I have no 
personal knowledge of the incorrigible Super- 
tramp who wrote this amazing book. If he is 
to be encouraged and approved, then British morality 
is a mockery, British respectability an imposture, and 
British industry a vice. Perhaps they are: I have 
always kept an open mind on the subject; but still 
one may ask some better ground for pitching them 
out of window than the caprice of a tramp. 

I hope these expressions will not excite unreason- 
able expectations of a thrilling realistic romance, or 
a scandalous chronicle, to follow. Mr. Davies' auto- 
biography is not a bit sensational: it might be the 
Post OfRce Directory for the matter of that. A less 
simple minded supertramp would not have thought 
it worth writing at all ; for it mentions nothing that 
might not have happened to any of us. As to scan- 
dal, I, though a most respectable author, have never 
written half so proper a book. These pudent pages 
are unstained with the frightful language, the de- 
based dialect, of the fictitious proletarians of Mr. 
Rudyard Kipling and other genteel writers. In 
them the patrons of the casual ward and the doss- 

[vii] 



Preface 

house argue with the decorum of Socrates, and nar- 
rate in the style of Tacitus. They have that pleas- 
ant combination of childish freshness with scrupu- 
lous literary conscientiousness only possible to people 
for whom speech, spoken or written, but especially 
written, is still a feat to be admired and shewn off 
for its own sake. Not for the life of me could I 
capture that boyish charm and combine it with the 
savoir vivre of an experienced man of the world, 
much less of an experienced tramp. The innocence 
of the author's manner and the perfection of his 
^. delicacy is such, that- you might read his book aloud 
in an almshouse without shocking the squeamishness 
of old age. As for the young, nothing shocks the 
young. The immorality of the matter is stupen- 
dous; but it is purely an industrial immorality. As 
to the sort of immorality that is most dreaded by 
schoolmistresses and duennas, there is not a word in 
the book to suggest that tramps know even what it 
means. On the contrary, I can quite believe that 
the author would die of shame if he were asked to 
write such books as Adam Bede or David Copper- 
field. 

The manuscript came into my hands under the 
following circumstances. In the year 1905 I re- 
ceived by post a volume of poems by one William 
H. Davies, whose address was The Farm House, 
Kennington S. E. I was surprised to learn that 
there was still a farmhouse left in Kennington; for 

[viii] 



Preface 

I did not then suspect that the Farmhouse, like the 
Shepherdess Walks and Nightingale Lanes and 
Whetstone Parks of Bethnal Green and Holborn, is 
so called nowadays in irony, and is, in fact, a doss- 
house, or hostelry where single men can have a 
night's lodging for, at most, sixpence. 

I was not surprised at getting the poems. I get 
a gift of minor poetry once a week or so; and yet, 
hardened as I am to it, I still, knowing how much 
these little books mean to their authors, can seldom 
throw them aside without a twinge of compunction 
which I allay by a glance at one of the pages in the 
faint but inextinguishable hope of finding something 
valuable there. Sometimes a letter accompanies the 
book; and then I get a rapid impression, from the 
handwriting and notepaper as well as from the bind- 
ing and type in the book, or even from the reputation 
of the publisher, of the class and type of the author. 
Thus I guess Cambridge or Oxford or Maida Vale 
or West Kensington or Exeter or the lakes or the 
east coast; or a Newdigate prizeman, a romantic 
Jew, a maiden lady, a shy country parson or whom 
not, what not, where not. When Mr. Davies' book 
came to hand my imagination failed me. I could 
not place him. There were no author's compliments, 
no publisher's compliments, indeed no publisher in 
the ordinary channel of the trade in minor poetry. 
The author, as far as I could guess, had walked 
into a printer's or stationer's shop; handed in his 

[ix] 



Preface 

manuscript; and ordered his book as he might have 
ordered a pair of boots. It was marked "price half 
a crown." An accompanying letter asked me very 
civilly if I required a half-crown book of verses; 
and if so, would I please send the author the half 
crown: if not, would I return the book. This was 
attractively simple and sensible. Further, the hand- 
writing was remarkably delicate and individual : the 
sort of handwriting one might expect from Shelley 
or George Meredith. I opened the book, and was 
more puzzled than ever; for before I had read three 
lines I perceived that the author was a real poet. 
His work was not in the least strenuous or modern: 
there was in it no sign that he had ever read any- 
thing later than Cowper or Crabbe, not even Byron, 
Shelley or Keats, much less Morris, Swinburne, 
Tennyson, or Henley and Kipling. There was in- 
deed no sign of his ever having read anything other- 
wise than as a child reads. The result was a free- 
dom from literary vulgarity which was like a draught 
of clear water in a desert. Here, I saw, was a gen- 
uine innocent, writing odds and ends of verse about 
odds and ends of things, living quite out of the 
world in which such things are usually done, and 
knowing no better (or rather no worse) than to get 
his book made by the appropriate craftsman and 
hawk it round like any other ware. 

Evidently, then, a poor man. It horrified me to 
think of a poor man spending his savings in print' 



Preface 

ing something that nobody buys: poetry, to wit. I 
thought of Browning threatening to leave the 
country when the Surveyor of Taxes fantastically 
assessed him for an imaginary income derived from 
his poems. I thought of Morris, who, even after 
The Earthly Paradise, estimated his income as a 
poet at a hundred a year. I saw that this man might 
well be simple enough to suppose that he could go 
into the verse business and make a living at it as 
one makes a living by auctioneering or shopkeeping. 
So instead of throwing the book away as I have 
thrown so many, I wrote him a letter telling him that 
he could not live by poetry. Also, I bought some 
spare copies, and told him to send them to such 
critics and verse fanciers as he knew of, wondering 
whether they would recognise a poet when they met 
one. 

And they actually did. I presently saw in a 
London newspaper an enthusiastic notice of the 
poems, and an account of an interview with the au- 
thor, from which I learnt that he was a tramp; 
that "the farm house" was a dosshouse; and that 
he was cut off from ordinary industrial pursuits by 
two circumstances: first, that he had mislaid one 
of his feet somewhere on his trampings, and now 
had to make shift as best he could with the other; 
second, that he was a man of independent means — 
a rentier — in short, a gentleman. 

The exact amount of his independent income was 
[xi] 



Preface 

ten shillings a week. Finding this too much for 
his needs, he devoted twenty per cent of it to pen- 
sioning necessitous friends in his native place ; saved 
a further percentage to print verses with; and lived 
modestly on the remainder. My purchase of eight 
copies of the book enabled him, I gathered, to dis- 
card all economy for about three months. It also 
moved him to offer me the privilege (for such I 
quite sincerely deem it) of reading his autobiography 
in manuscript. The following pages will enable the 
world at large to read it in print. 

All I have to say by way of recommendation of 
the book is that I have read it through from begin- 
ning to end, and would have read more of it had 
there been any more to read. It is a placid narra- 
tive, unexciting in matter and unvarnished in man- 
ner, of the commonplaces of a tramp's life. It is 
of a very curious quality. Were not the author an 
approved poet of remarkable sensibility and deli- 
cacy I should put down the extraordinary quietness 
of his narrative to a monstrous callousness. Even 
as it is, I ask myself with some indignation whether 
a man should lose a limb with no more to-do than 
a lobster loses a claw or a lizard his tail, as if he 
could grow a new one at his next halting place I If 
such a thing happened to me, I should begin the 
chapter describing it with "I now come to the event 
which altered the whole course of my life, and 
blighted, etc., etc." In Mr. Davies' pages the thing 

[xii] 



Preface 

happens as unexpectedly as it did in real life, and 
with an effect on the reader as appalling as if he 
were an actual spectator. Fortunately it only hap- 
pened once: half a dozen such shocks would make 
any book unbearable by a sensitive soul. 

I do not know whether I should describe our super- 
tramp as a lucky man or an unlucky one. In making 
him a poet, Fortune gave him her supremest gift; 
but such high gifts are hardly personal assets: they 
are often terrible destinies and crushing burdens. 
Also, he chanced upon an independent income: 
enough to give him reasonable courage, and not 
enough to bring him under the hoof of suburban 
convention, lure him into a premature marriage, or 
deliver him into the hands of the doctors. Still, 
not quite enough to keep his teeth in proper repair 
and his feet dry in all weathers. 

Some flat bad luck he has had. I suppose every 
imaginative boy is a criminal, stealing and destroy- 
ing for the sake of being great in the sense in which 
greatness is presented to him in the romance of his- 
tory. But very few get caught. Mr. Davies un- 
fortunately was seized by the police; haled before 
the magistrate; and made to expiate by stripes the 
bygone crimes of myself and some millions of other 
respectable citizens. That was hard luck, certainly. 
It gives me a feeling of moral superiority to him; 
for I never fell into the hands of the police — at 
least they did not go on with the case (one of in- 

[xiii] 



Preface 

cendiarism), because the gentleman whose property 
I burnt had a strong sense of humour and a kindly 
nature, and let me off when I made him a precocious 
speech — the first I ever delivered — on the thought- 
lessness of youth. It is remarkable what a differ- 
ence it makes, this matter of the police; though it is 
obviously quite beside the ethical question. Mr. 
Davies tells us, with his inimitable quiet modesty, 
that he begged, stole, and drank. Now I have 
begged and stolen; and if I never drank, that 
was only an application of the principle of division 
of labour to the Shaw clan; for several members of 
it drank enough for ten. But I have always man- 
aged to keep out of the casual ward and the police 
court; and this gives me an ineffable sense of superior 
respectability when I read the deplorable confessions 
of Mr. Davies, who is a true poet in his disregard 
for appearances, and is quite at home in tramp wards. 
Another effect of this book on me is to make me 
realise what a slave of convention I have been all 
my life. When I think of the way I worked tamely 
for my living during all those years when Mr. 
Davies, a free knight of the highway, lived like a 
pet bird on titbits, I feel that I have been duped out 
of my natural liberty. Why had I not the luck, at 
the outset of my career, to meet that tramp who came 
to Mr. Davies, like Evangelist to Christian, on the 
first day of his American pilgrim's progress, and 
saved him on the very brink of looking for a job, 

[xiv] 



Preface 

by bidding him to take no thought for the morrow ; 
to ask and it should be given to him; to knock and 
it should be opened to him; and to free himself 
from the middle class assumption that only through 
taking a ticket can one take a train. Let every 
youth into whose hands this book falls ponder its 
lesson well, and, when next his parents and guardians 
attempt to drive him into some inhuman imprison- 
ment and drudgery under the pretext that he should 
earn his own living, think of the hospitable country- 
sides of America, with their farm-houses overflow- 
ing with milk and honey for the tramp, and their 
offers of adoption for every day labourer with a dash 
of poetry in him. 

And then, how much did I know about hotels un- 
til I read this book I I have often wondered how 
the poor travel; for it is plain that the Ritzes and 
Metropoles, and even the hotels noted by Baedeker 
as "unpretending," are not for them. Where does 
the man with sixpence in his pocket stay? Mr. 
Davies knows. Read and learn. 

It is to be noted that Mr. Davies is no propa- 
gandist of the illusions of the middle-class tramp 
fancier. You never suspect him of having read 
Lavengro, or got his notions of nomads from Mr. 
Theodore Watts Dunton. He does not tell you 
that there is honour among tramps : on the contrary, 
he makes it clear that only by being too destitute 
to be worth robbing and murdering can a tramp in- 

[XV] 



Preface 

sure himself against being robbed and murdered by 
his comrade of the road. The tramp is fastidious 
and accomplished, audacious and self-possessed; but 
he is free from divine exploitation: he has no orbit: 
he has the endless trouble of doing what he likes 
with himself, and the endless discountenance of 
being passed by as useless by the Life Force that 
finds superselfish work for other men. That, I sup- 
pose, is why Mr. Davies tramps no more, but writes 
verses and saves money to print them out of eight 
shillings a week. And this, too, at a moment when 
the loss of a limb has placed within his reach such 
success in begging as he had never before dared to 
dream of! 

Mr. Davies is now a poet of established reputation. 
He no longer prints his verses and hawks them: he 
is regularly published and reviewed. Whether he 
finds the change a lucrative one I venture to doubt. 
That the verses in The Soul's Destroyer and in his 
New Poems will live is beyond question; but whether 
Mr. Davies can live if anything happens to his 
eight shillings a week (unless he takes to the road 
again) is another matter. That is perhaps why he 
has advised himself to write and print his autobi- 
ography, and try his luck with it as Man of Letters 
in a more general sense. Though it is only in verse 
that he writes exquisitely, yet this book, which is 
printed as it was written, without any academic cor- 
rections from the point of view of the Perfect Com- 

[xvi] 



Preface 

mercial Letter Writer, is worth reading by literary 
experts for its style alone. And since his manner is 
so quiet, it has been thought well by his friends and 
his publishers to send a trumpeter before him the 
more effectually to call attention to him before he 
begins. I have volunteered for that job for the sake 
of his poems. Having now done it after my well 
known manner, I retire and leave the stage to him. 

G. B. S. 
Ayot St. Lawrence. 1907. 



[xvii] 



Contents 



Preface by G. Bernard Shaw 

CHAPTER 

I. Childhood, 1 

II. Youth, 12 

III. Manhood, 23 

IV. Brum, 32 

V. A Tramp's Summer Vacation, 39 

VI. A Night's Ride, 46 

VII. Law in America, 56 

VIII. A Prisoner His Own Judge, 66 

IX. Berry Picking, 77 

X. The Cattleman's Office, 87 

XI. A Strange Cattleman, 101 

XII. Thieves, 112 

"XIII. The Canal, 119 

XIV. The House-Boat, 126 

XV. A Lynching, 138 

XVL The Camp, 147 

XVIL Home, 157 

XVIIL Off Again, 168 

XIX. A Voice in the Dark, 178 

XX. Hospitality, 192 

XXI. London, 197 

XXIL The Ark, 213 

Ixix] 



Contents 

CHAPTER 

XXIII. Gridling, 227 

XXIV. On the Downright, 242 
XXV. The Farmhouse, 254 

XXVI. Rain and Poverty, 267 

XXVII. False Hopes, 274 

XXVIII. On Tramp Again, 283 

XXIX. A Day's Companion, 296 

XXX. The Fortune, 303 

XXXI. Some Ways of Making a Living, 310 

XXXII. At Last, 317 

XXXIII. Success, 329 

XXXIV. A House to Let, 338 



[XX] 



The Autobiography 
of a Super-Tramp 



The Autobiography of 
a Super-Tramp 

CHAPTER I 

CHILDHOOD 

1WAS bom thirty-five years ago, in a public 
house called the Church House, in the town of 
N , in the county of M . It was kept 

by my grandfather, native of Cornwall, a retired sea 
captain, whose pride it was, drunk or sober, to in- 
form all strangers that he had been master of his 
own ship, the said ship being a small schooner. In 
those days there was a steam packet, called the 

Welsh Prince^ trading regularly between N 

and Bristol, and in the latter town we had relatives 
on my grandmother's side. The fact of the matter 
was that my grandmother belonged to Somerset, and 
she often paid a visit to three maiden sisters, first 
cousins of hers, living, I believe, near Glastonbury, 
who had a young relative that had gone on the stage, 
and was causing some stir under a different name 
from his own, which was Brodrib. My grand- 

[1] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

mother held very strong opinions about the stage, 
and when these first cousins met, no doubt the young 
man, in those early days, was most severely discussed, 
and, had he not been a blood relation, would have 
been considered a sinner too far advanced for prayer. 

My earliest recollection is of being taken as a 
small boy with an elder brother to Bristol on the 
Welsh Prince by my grandfather. I believe the 
frequency of these trips was mainly owing to the 
friendship existing between the two captains, as 
my grandfather seldom left the bridge, taking a 
practical part in the navigation of the ship and 
channel — except at times to visit the saloon cabin 
for a little refreshment. 

On one trip we had a very stormy passage, and on 
that occasion the winds and the waves made such 
a fool of the Welsh Prince that she — to use the 
feminine gender, as is the custom of every true 
mariner, of one of whom I am a proud descendant — 
often threatened to dive into the bowels of the deep 
for peace. It was on this occasion that my grand- 
father assisted the captain of the Welsh Prince to 
such purpose that people aboard acclaimed him 
as the saviour of their lives, and blessed him for the 
safety of the ship. It is not therefore to be won- 
dered at when the old man ashore, returning at 
midnight from this rough voyage with me and my 
brother, would frequently pause and startle the 
silent hour with a stentorian voice addressed to 

[2] 



Childhood 

indifferent sleepers — "Do you know who I am? 
Captain Davies, master of his own ship." Whether 
the pohce were awed by this announcement, or knew 
him to be an honest, respectable man with a few 
idiosyncrasies, I cannot say; but it was apparent to 
me in those young days that they assisted him home 
with much gentleness, and he was passed on care- 
fully from beat to beat, as though he were a case 
of new laid eggs. 

Alas! the Welsh Prince became childish in her 
old age. She would often loiter so long in the 
channel as to deceive the tide that expected her, 
and to disappoint a hundred people who assembled 
on the bridge — under which she moored — to welcome 
her. What with her missing of tides, her wander- 
ing into strange courses, her sudden appearance in 
the river after rumours of loss, her name soon be- 
came the common talk of the town. Her erratic 
behaviour became at last so usual that people lost 
all interest as to her whereabouts, or whither she 
had wandered, and were contented to know that she 
arrived safe, though late. They were not curious 
to know if she had been dozing in a fog or had 
rested for a day or two on a bank of mud; what- 
ever she had done, she had been too wary to collide, 
and, being too slow to dash through the waves, had 
allowed them to roll her over with very little power 
of resistance. These things happened until she was 
condemned and sold, and her mooring place to this 

[3] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

day is unoccupied by a successor. When I now 
cross the bridge and look down on her accustomed 
place, I think with tender emotion of the past. 
After the Welsh Prince had been deposed in her 
old age, accused of disobeying captain and crew, 
charged with being indifferent to her duties, and for- 
getful of her responsibilities — her captain, losing 
his beloved ship, idled a few months ashore and died. 
No doubt he had grown to love her, but she had gone 
beyond the control of living man, and a score of the 
best seamen breathing could not have made her 
punctual to her duties ; therefore he could not reason- 
ably answer the charges made against her. Some 
other company, it was rumoured, had chartered her 
for the Mediterranean, which would certainly be 
much better for her time of life ; the Mediterranean 
being so large a body of water as compared with 
the Bristol Channel, would allow her more scope 
for manoeuvres. But all this was idle talk, probably 
a profane sneer at her old age, for it was told me 
by an eye-witness, that she was run ashore in an 
isolated pool at the mouth of the river, stripped 
unceremoniously of her iron, and her wood-work 
burned. It is only a few years ago since the river 
was hers, but her name is seldom mentioned at the 
present day. 

It was through* being bom in a public house that 
I -became acquainted with the taste of drink at a 
very early age, receiving sups of mulled beer at 

[4] 



Childhood 

bed time, in lieu of cocoa or tea, as is the custom in 
more domestic houses. So that, after my school 
days were over, I required but very little induce- 
ment to drink. 

At last the old people, being tired of business and 
having a little property, retired into private life; 
my father, whom I cannot remember, being dead, 
and my mother marrying the second time, much 
to the old folks' annoyance. Their own children 
having all died, they kindly offered to adopt us 
three children, the only grandchildren they had; and 
mother, knowing that such would be to our future 
benefit, at once agreed. When we were settled in 
private life our home consisted of grandfather, grand- 
mother, an imbecile brother, a sister, myself, a maid- 
servant, a dog, a cat, a parrot, a dove, and a canary 
bird. I remember those happy days, and often wish 
I could speak into the ears of the dead the grati- 
tude which was due to them in life, and so ill 
returned. 

My school days began, but I played truant day 
after day, and the m-aidservant had to lead me as 
a prisoner to school. Although small of figure I 
was a good athlete, and so often fighting that some 
of my relatives thought that prize fighting was of 
a certainty to be my future vocation. Mother's 
father and brothers all took great interest in pugihsm, 
and they knew the game well from much practice 
of their own. They were never so much delighted 

[5] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

as when I visited them with a black eye or a bloody 
nose, at which time they would be at the trouble 
to give cunning points as to how to meet an opponent 
according to his weight and height. "He certainly 
has the one thing essential," they affirm, one to the 
other, " and that is the heart. Without that experi- 
ence would be of no account, but with that it will be 
the making of him.'* If I took off my coat to battle 
in the streets, the shirt itself came off in the lanes 
and fields. When attending school I would accom- 
pany a dozen or more boys "following the leader." 
Needless to say, I was the leader; and, being a good 
jumper, would leap over ditches that would try every 
nerve in my body. Two or three would follow a 
little less successfully, and then we would bully and 
threaten the less active to make the attempt. Often 
we had to drag them out by the hair of the head, 
and it was in this condition that they were led back 
to school late — always late. The dirtiest boy, who 
had had the most pressure put upon him, and was 
truly the most gentle and least guilty of us all — 
would be punished the most severely for these esca- 
pades, owing to his dirtier condition; and most likely 
receive more punishment afterwards at home. 
Strange that I was not a bad scholar, and that I 
passed all my standards with ease. In the last year 
of my school days I became captain of the school's 
football team, and was honoured and trusted by 
being allowed to take charge of the ball, but owing 

[6] 



Childhood 

to making private use of the same, and practising 
in secret with boys of other schools, I was requested 
by the Committee to forfeit my trust, although I 
might still continue captain as aforesaid. If I had 
been contented with these innocent honours, and had 
not been so ambitious to excel in other and more 
infamous parts, all would have been well, and my 
schooldays would have been something of a credit 
to me. But unfortunately, at this time, I organised 
a band of robbers, six in number, and all of good 
families and comfortable homes. It was our wont 
to enter busy stores, knowing that small boys would 
not be attended to until the grown people had fin- 
ished their purchases. Then we would slyly take 
things up for a curious examination, at the same 
time watching a favourable opportunity to surrep- 
titiously appropriate them. When accosted by the 
shopman as to our wants we would innocently ask 
the price of some article we had agreed on, and re- 
ceiving answer, would quietly leave the premises. 
This went on for some time, and I had nefariously 
profited by a large assortment of miscellaneous ar- 
ticles, such as paints, brushes, books, bottles of scent 
and various other items that could not be preserved, 
such as sweets and confectionery. How this con- 
tinued for six weeks speaks well for our well laid 
plans, and our dexterity in the performance of 
them. My girl, Maggie, who had, during our early 
acquaintance, received only presents of wild flowers 

[7] 



I 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

and birds' eggs, and occasionally a handful of nuts, 
was not the happy possessor of valuable presents 
in the shape of purses, pocket books, bottles of 
scents, pencils of silver, not to mention having re- 
ceived a hundred different sorts of sweets and cake 
that was superior to her mother's. Time after time 
she promised not to betray me; or any of my con- 
federates. The latter often warned me against re- , 
posing confidence in the other sex. One produced | 
a book, at that very moment, which told how a 
woman betrayed a g'ang of robbers; and it was his 
firm opinion that the other sex could not be trusted 
farther than they could be seen. 

At home I was cured of thieving by what I thought 
at that time to be a very remarkable incident — no 
more or less than the result of witchcraft. One 
day my grandmother happened to be standing be- 
fore the fire cooking, and above the fireplace was 
a large mirror, towards which her eyes were turned. 
Thinking this a favourable opportunity to rifle the 
sugar basin, I lost no time in making the attempt; 
but my fingers had scarcely closed on a large lump 
when the old lady, without in the least turning her 
head, cried in a shrill voice, "You dare!" For my 
life I could not account for this discovery, and it 
sent such a shock through me that I never again 
attempted in the old lady's presence to be other than 
honest. She could close her eyes in the arm chair 
and even breathe audibly, but I never had the con- 

[8] 



Childhood 

fidence to make another attempt. But this incident 
at home had no detrimental effect on my courage 
abroad. 

One day I and my lieutenant played truant from 
school, and making our way up town, began to ex- 
ecute various little plans that had been concocted 
the night before. After several desperate sorties on 
confectionery, with our usual success, we began to 
meditate on higher game. We blundered at a cigar 
case in a chemist shop, and had to leave our spoils 
behind. Although fearful, we entered a large gro- 
cery store, and were having great success, when my 
lieutenant dropped a bottle of scent, and not hav- 
ing the presence of mind to stand his ground and 
make it appear an accident, made a guilty rush 
through the open door. I followed him at once, and 
catching him up, got clear ahead. But the hue 
and cry was out, and every one shouted, "Stop 
thieves I" This terrible cry, taken up by one and 
another, took all the strength out of our legs, and 
our own sheer terror brought us to a halt. In five 
minutes we were captured and crying over our ill 
luck in a prison cell. We made a confession of 
everything, and the rest of the gang were soon un- 
der arrest. Our houses were visited by detectives 
and searched, and different articles found in cup- 
boards, drawers, desks, and chests which were soon 
identified by the shopkeepers. Maggie, at the in- 
stigation of her mother, gave several articles to the 

[9] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

police, with information, proving to me, even in 
those early days, how little her sex was to be trusted. 
The unfortunate part of this was that we all had 
good homes. My grandfather would most cer- 
tainly have paid a fine of twenty or thirty pounds 
to save me from punishment, and offered, I believe, 
to do the same. Alas I the magistrates were inex- 
orable, and I and my lieutenant were sentenced each 
to twelve strokes with the birch rod, whilst the 
other four, not being caught red-handed, received 
six strokes each. I do not at present feel much re- 
morse for those desperate times, but often think of 
the disgrace to parents. The kindly admonishment 
of my schoolmaster made me shed the real tears of 
repentance, not being forced from me by any thought 
of punishment. This ended my schooldays; and 
after the breaking up of our gang, I was not allowed 
much liberty, our elders being afraid of a reorgani- 
sation. When I was allowed out for an hour's play, 
strict injunctions were given me not to leave our 
own door, and this was not much to my liking. In 
the dark winter evenings I would sit with my grand- 
father, my brother and sister, painting ships or read- 
ing before a large fire that was never allowed to 
burn below its highest bar. My grandfather, with 
his old habits, would pace slowly up and down the 
half dark passage, shutting himself out in the cold. 
Every now and then he would open the front door 
to look at the stars or to inform himself from what 

[lo] 



' Childhood 

latitude the wind blew. The wind never changed 
without his knowledge; for this wary mariner in- 
variably surprised it in the act of doing so. Three 
or four times in the evening he would open the 
kitchen door to see that his family were comfortable, 
as though he had just made his way from the hurri- 
cane deck to enquire after the welfare of passengers 
in the cabin. When this was done, the old lady 
would sometimes say, rather peevishly, "Francis, do 
sit down for a minute or two." Then he would 
answer gruffly, but not unkindly — "Avast there, 
Lydia," closing the door to begin again his steady 
pacing to and fro. 

At this time I had a boy companion, named Dave, 
who was a great reader, had enough self-confidence 
to recite in public, and was a wonderful raconteur 
of tales. Great things were expected of him in 
after years. I have heard since that intemperance 
prevented their fulfilment, but we were too innocent 
in those days to think that such would be the case. 
Through him I became a reader, in the first place 
with an idea of emulating his cleverness, which led 
to a love of literature for its own self. Of course I 
began with the common penny novel of the worst 
type, but acquired a taste for better work in a shorter 
time than boys usually do. 



[11] 



CHAPTER II 

YOUTH 

LIFE was very irksome to me at this period, be- 
ing led to chapel morning and evening on 
Sundays, and led back; having the mortifica- 
tion of seeing other boys of the same age enjoying 
their liberty. The only way to alter these condi- 
tions was to apply for work. This was soon done, 
hiring myself out to an ironmonger, at a weekly wage 
of five shillings. The old people now began to take 
a pride in me, advising me to study my master's 
interests, and without doubt succeed to his business 
at his decease. My brother, two years my senior, 
who, as I have said before, was odd in his behaviour, 
took example by me, and succeeded in being em- 
ployed at a large clothing establishment. It was 
there and then that he began and finished his life's 
work in half a day. Having been sent to the dock 
with a large parcel valued at two pounds ten shil- 
lings, he found on arrival that the Belsy Jane was 
moored in the middle of the dock. My brother, 
seeing this, and not being blessed with inventive 
faculties, placed the parcel on the quay and returned 
to his master. Naturally the shopkeeper thought 

[12] 



Youth 

it was safely delivered, until the captain of the 
Belsy Jane, coming straight from his ship, entered 
the shop to make enquiries about his goods. My 
brother, having a clear conscience, explained mat- 
ters in his simple way to the open eyed astonish- 
ment of his hearers. The result was a summary 
dismissal, and a letter to my grandfather requesting 
him to make good the loss of the parcel ; which was 
duly done, my grandfather being extremely afraid 
of the law. The old people would never admit 
that my brother was different from other boys, al- 
though it was apparent not only to grown folk, but 
to the smallest child in the street. Some days be- 
fore the affair just mentioned my grandmother, hav- 
ing to answer the door, ordered my brother to watch 
some fish, which was being prepared for dinner. 
When she returned, the cat was enjoying a good 
meal under the sofa. To the old lady's cry of 
"Francis, did I not tell you to watch the fish," my 
brother answered truthfully : for he always told the 
truth and did what he was told — "So I did, grand- 
mother, and the cat took it." If she had explained 
to him properly why she wanted the fish watched, 
at the same time making special mention of a cat's 
partiality for fish, no doubt he would have watched 
to better purpose. 

Nothing could have happened better than this 
instance of the loss of the ship's goods to undeceive 
my grandfather as to my brother's state of mind. 

[13] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

A sudden blaze of intelligence broke in on the old 
man's mind, which was not of the most brilliant 
kind. "Lydia," said he to his wife, "there's some- 
thing wrong with the boy ; to think he did not have 
sense enough to shout. Ship ahoy." I ventured to 
say, to show my cleverness, that there might have 
been several ships in the middle of the dock, and 
they would have all answered to Ship ahoy. Would 
it not have been better to cry, Beisy Jane, ahoy? 
The old man paused thunderstruck. "Avast there," 
he cried, "drop anchor: will ye have more pud- 
ding?" 

In our street almost every woman had some one 
connected with the sea, and it was my grandfather's 
pleasure by day to parade the street and inform the 
women as to what winds and tides were favourable 
to their husbands or sons. One woman had a hus- 
band that had sailed away in a barque, which was 
never sighted or hailed after leaving port, and was 
now three months overdue. My grandfather feared 
to meet this sailor's wife, and would often peep 
around his door, trying to escape consultation from 
her, knowing well his own forebodings as to the fate 
of the barque and her crew. 

I have mentioned Dave, who was a very studious 
lad, and who became my one companion and the 
sharer of my dreams. He had received an old copy 
of Byron, and we both became fascinated by the 
personality of that poet. His influence on Dave 

[14] 



Youth 

was so great that it was publicly shown to all the 
boys and girls in the chapel's schoolroom, where we 
had gathered for childish games, under the super- 
vision of the elders. While we were playing kiss 
in the ring, singing and laughing, dancing with mer- 
riment, when small white teeth, red lips and bright 
eyes were all the rage — Dave would lean his figure 
(not so tall as he would like it) against a pillar, 
biting his lips and frowning at our merry-making. 
None but myself knew that his troubles and sor- 
rows were purely imaginary, but they certainly suc- 
ceeded in causing some sensation, even the notice 
of the elders being drawn to him. Some time after 
this we had more trouble with Dave, when we went 
for a day's trip to the sea-side. On this occasion 
he took his own path across the sands, a solitary 
figure, with his head bowed, and when we called 
him he would not heed us. That night, when it 
was time to return Dave stood perilously near the 
edge of the pier, gazing with melancholy eyes on 
the water. Several women hastened towards him, 
and drawing him gently away, enquired as to his 
trouble. On which Dave stood erect, was motion- 
less, frowned, bit his lip, and stalked away into the 
darkness, without uttering a word. He came back 
in time to catch the boat. Dave soon got tired of 
these doings, but the influence of Byron was more 
lasting on me. It was the first time for me to read 
verse with enjoyment. I read Shelley, Marlowe, 

[15] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

and Shakespeare, indifferent to Wordsworth, but 
giving him since the attention of wiser days. 

My grandmother had only read one novel in her 
life, called "The Children of the Abbey," and had 
been severely punished by her mother for doing so. 
She therefore continually warned me against read- 
ing such works, but strongly recommended Milton's 
"Paradise Lost" and Young's "Night Thoughts"; 
her favourite quotation being from the latter — 
"Procrastination is the thief of time." It pleased 
her to tears when a friend saw a likeness between 
John Bunyan and rnyself, and she regretted that 
she saw no prospect of ever tracing a resemblance 
between our hearts. 

I was now bound apprentice to the picture frame 
trade, but owing to my passion for reading, could 
not apply myself sufficiently to that business so as to 
become a good workman. The fact of the matter 
was that I was reading deep into the night and, 
having to be up early for work, was encroaching 
on Nature's allowance of sleep. Owing to being 
young and conceited and not being satisfied at hav- 
ing knowledge concealed, I showed at this time some 
parts that made older and wiser people of both 
sexes prophesy good results in manhood. Having 
no knowledge of metre and very little of harmony, 
I composed and caused to be printed a poem de- 
scribing a storm at night, which a young friend re- 
cited at a mutual improvement class> making after 

[16] 



1 



Youth 

mention of the author's name, when I was publicly 
congratulated. Some time after this I — having sur- 
reptitiously visited the playhouse on more than one 
occasion — boldly read out an article to the same 
class entitled — "In defence of the Stage." This 
daring performance caused some commotion among 
the full grown sheep, who thought they detected a 
wolf in lamb's clothing; but the young lamb — my 
companions — bleated for pride and joy. My 
grandmother was told of this, and as she did not 
take the trouble to enquire the subject of my ad- 
dress, and it was not told unto her, she was satisfied 
to know I had surprised several members of the con- 
gregation and in particular a deacon, for whom she 
had great respect. 

It has always been a wonder to me where my 
conversational power has gone: at the present time 
I cannot impress the most ordinary men. It must 
be through associating so many years with compan- 
ions uncongenial to my taste, a preference for in- 
dulging in my own thoughts, and forcing myself to 
comment on subjects uninteresting to me. I remem- 
ber at one time being in a lodging house where one 
man stood out as an authority on books, disease, 
politics, military tactics, and more especially the 
meaning and right pronunciation of words. Sev- 
eral times different men have said to me, "That man 
is a scholar; he is not an ignoramus, as the likes of 
you and me." It was a secret satisfaction to know 

[17] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

that this gentleman to whom they referred, often 
paid the compliment of knowing more than himself 
by asking information, which, on my part, was im- 
parted with much secrecy, as I did not wish to ap- 
pear in any way superior to those with whom I was 
forced by circumstances to associate. Yet, in those 
happy days of my apprenticeship, I rarely visited 
a house but what a second invitation was assured, 
although a painful shyness marred the beginning. 
We enjoyed ourselves so much one evening at a 
friend's house, where the lady had been all day in- 
disposed, that her husband said, on leaving, "My 
wife has been laughed out of her sickness, and you 
have certainly saved me an item on the doctor's 
bill." Instead of this giving more confidence and 
overcoming my shyness, when I received from them 
an invitation for a second party I became so over- 
powered at the thought of what would be expected 
of me, that for the life of me I could not accept 
it, knowing I would have made an ass of myself. 
It is not altogether shyness that now makes me un- 
successful in company. Sometimes it is a state of 
mind that is three parts meditation that will not 
free the thoughts until their attendant trains are 
prepared to follow them. Again, having heard so 
much slang my thoughts often clothe themselves in 
that stuff from their first nakedness. That being 
the case, shame and confusion in good company 
make me take so long to undress and clothe them 

[i8] 



Youth 

better, in more seemly garments, that other people 
grow tired of waiting and take upon themselves the 
honour of entertainers. It was in the second year 
of my apprenticeship that I met a young woman 
living in a small village adjoining this town of my 
birth, who was very clever, a great reader of fine 
literature; and it was to her hands, after I had en- 
joyed her conversation on several occasions, that I 
submitted a small composition of my own. Her 
encouragement at that early time has been the star 
on which these eyes have seldom closed, by which 
I have successfully navigated the deeps of misery, 
pushing aside Drink, my first officer, who many a 
day and many a night endeavoured to founder me. 
She was the first to recognise in my spirit something 
different from mere cleverness, something she had 
seen and recognised in her books, but had never be- 
fore met in a living person. I had known her only 
six months when she died, but her words of encour- 
agement have been ringing in my ears ever since they 
were uttered. 

My grandfather had also died ; a straightforward, 
honest, simple man, with a mortal dread of being 
in debt, and always well prepared to pay his rates 
and taxes. He had a horror of being a principal 
in the police courts, but appeared there three times 
for no offence of his own. Called upon once to ex- 
amine a rope supposed to be stolen from a ship he 
proved the rope was of the land, and different from 

[19] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

a ship's rope — discharge of the prisoner. On an- 
other occasion, Sunday morning, and grandfather be- 
ing in bed, a detective, disguised as a poor working 
man that was almost dying for a drink, wheedled j 
the old man's daughter to sell him some liquor over! 
the back wall — the result being a summons for sup- • 
plying drink during closed hours, followed by a 
heavy fine, which was at once paid. The third time 
was at my trial with five other desperadoes, as de- 
scribed in the preceding chapter. There was noth- 
ing false about this man, and he had the heart of 
a lion. He claimed to have beaten the champion 
of Portsmouth, but undoubtedly this was some 
drunken fellow who had taken on himself this much 
coveted title. Grandfather's pet yarn, which I have 
heard him recount a hundred times, took place in a 
public house, where a thin partition divided him 
from another person who was loudly extolling him- 
self to the admiration of others. Grandfather al- 
lowed this man to continue for some time, but at 
last, losing patience, he looked around the partition 
and cried in a stern voice, "Avast there. Captain 
Jones: I knew thee when thou wert glad to eat 
barley bread without butter." Captain Jones looked 
disconcerted at this remark and then, quickly putting 
his own head around the partition, whispered: 
"Hush, hush. Captain Davies; there's nothing like 
making one's self look big in a strange place." 

I was now in the last year of my apprenticeship, 
[20] 



Youth 

and was running a bit wild, taking no interest in 
my trade, and determined in a few months to throw 
off all restraint. When my time had expired, my 
master wanted me to continue working for him, 
which I did for a short time; and, for one who had 
not yet reached his twenty-first year, received a very 
fair wage. In three or four months I found some 
excuse for leaving. I was eager to start for the 
new world; but my grandmother would not, on any 
account, supply money for that purpose; so I ap- 
plied for work at Bristol, was accepted, and worked 
there six months, being then called home through the 
death of the good old lady. The licence indulged 
in during these six months, being in a strange town 
and unknown, was sufficient to wreck the brains and 
health of any man beyond recovery, and for the 
time being dtadened all literary ambition. It could 
not have continued this way much longer, and no 
doubt, it was her death that prevented the collapse 
of my life, by a change of circumstances. Her es- 
tate was in the hands of a trustee, and its profits 
were to be divided weekly among her three grand- 
children. She was a good old soul, and I have lived 
long enough to cherish every hair of her head. She 
was a Baptist, stoutly opposed to other creeds — 
called the stage the Devil's Playground — abhorred 
second marriages — and thought as much of me in 
life as I think of her in death. Many of the little 
kindnesses that were given to her in life were done 

[21] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

more out of a sense of duty than from the gratitude 
of which she was so worthy. But the good old soul 
died without suspecting any other than gratitude. 
Mine is the shame and sorrow that she did not re- 
ceive it, as I am even now, thirteen years after her 
death, living on her bounty. When my grandmother 
died, I joined home with mother and her second 
family, but after a month or two of restlessness, I 
sought the trustee, got an advance from him of some 
fifteen pounds, and full of hope and expectation em- 
barked for America. 



[22] 



b 



CHAPTER III 

MANHOOD 

N arriving at Liverpool, I made the ac- 
quaintance of a man who had been in 

, , America some years previously, and not 

having his hopes realised at that time, had returned 
desperate to England, taken in a fresh cargo of 
hopes, and was now making a second attempt with 
as much enthusiasm, if not more, than others in mak- 
ing their first. In him I placed implicit confidence, 
and received such an extraordinary description of 
that country, the number of stories of some of its 
highest buildings which were called skyscrapers; the 
houses of wood which could be moved from one 
street to another without in any way interfering 
with the comfort of the people within, cooking, 
sweeping and washing going on without hindrance; 
the loneliness of its prairies and deserts; engineer- 
ing triumphs over high mountains; and how the 
glorious South was flushed with roses what time 
the North could not save a blade of green from the 
snow; all this happening under the one wide spread- 
ing flag: this made such an impression on me that 
I at once went to the steerage cabin and wrote a 

[23] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

full description of the country, that very first eve- 
ning aboard; telling of my arrival in America, and 
the difference between the old and the new world. 
This letter was given to the steward at Queenstown, 
and was written to save me the trouble of writing 
on my arrival, so that I might have more time to 
enjoy myself. Several years elapsed before it oc- 
curred to me how foolish and thoughtless I had been. 
The postmark itself would prove that I had not 
landed in America, and they would also receive the 
letter several days before it would be due from those 
distant shores. I can certainly not boast a large 
amount of common sense. 

It was in the month of June, when we made this 
voyage, and the great Atlantic was as smooth as an 
inland river. Every one sought to escape the 
thoughts of home, and to do so, we often worked 
ourselves into a frenzy of singing and dancing. 
Sometimes our attention would be drawn to an ice- 
berg on the port side, very innocent and beautiful 
to the eyes of passengers, but feared by mariners, 
who saw into its depths. And then a ship full sail; 
or another great Atlantic liner on the starboard bow. 
There was a total lack of ceremony aboard, stran- 
gers familiar with strangers, and the sexes doing 
each other little kindnesses, who had never met be- 
fore and probably would never meet again, parting 
without even enquiring or giving each other a name. 
As we neared the coast we had a thunderstorm, and 

[24] 



Manhood 

I was surprised and somewhat awed at the sound 
of its peals, and at the slower and larger flashes of 
lightning. Nature, it seemed, used a freer and more 
powerful hand in this country of great things than 
is her wont among our pretty little dales, and our 
small green hills. I thought the world was coming 
to an end, and in no way felt reassured when an 
American, noting my expression, said that it was 
nothing to what I would see and hear if I remained 
long in God's own country of free and law abiding 
citizens. 

My impression of Americans from the beginning 
is of the best, and I have never since had cause to 
alter my mind. They are a kind, sympathetic race 
of people and naturally proud of their country. 
The Irish-American is inclined to be the most bitter, 
remembering from his youth the complaints of his 
parents, who were driven through unjust laws from 
their own beloved land; and such a man is not to 
be idly aggravated, for life is a serious subject to 
him. This man is not to be aggravated, especially 
under the consideration that our conscience is not 
too clean in this respect, and that we are apt to be 
very slow in making that open confession which is 
good for the soul. The most pleasing trait in 
Americans, which cannot for long escape us, is their 
respect for women and the way in which the latter 
do their utmost to deserve it. No sight of a woman 
behind the saloon bar listening to the ribald jests 

[25] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

of drunken men, and no woman at the bar's front 
drinking glass for glass with her associates. How- 
ever weak in this respect a woman may be in private, 
she is certainly too strong to make a public exhibi- 
tion of her weakness. Husband and wife may be 
unhappy, but you seldom hear of a woman carry- 
ing the marks of a man's brutality as witnesses 
against him which is so common in the police courts 
of old England. A man in a fit of ungovernable 
passion may kill his wife; and better so, I should 
say, than to leave her half killed at the foot of the 
stairs every Saturday night and holidays for twenty 
or thirty years, and blacken her eyes before they can 
recover their natural colour, the brutality that 
shamed me so much in after years in the slums of 
London, hearing it so often recorded as a jest. 

I was so anxious to see the different states of 
America that I did not stay long in New York be- 
fore I succumbed to the persuasion of my Liverpool 
acquaintance to visit with him some friends in a 
small town in the state of Connecticut, at which 
place we soon arrived, with something like ten dol- 
lars between us. America, at this time, was suffer- 
ing from a depression in trade, and people were 
daily returning to the old country, most of them 
with the intention of returning again to America at 
a more favourable time. Not being able to get em- 
ployment at once, and resolved to be independent 
of the bounty of strangers, I walked out alone, and 

[26] 



Manhood 

sat on a seat in the park, trying to conceive some 
plans for the future. My box, full of clothes, books, 
brushes, etc., would amply compensate, I thought, 
for the week's lodging which I had had. Yes, I 
would see Chicago: and, suddenly becoming aware 
of a man occupying the other end of the seat, I 
enquired of him the way to Chicago, as though the 
distance was a paltry ten miles, instead of a hundred 
times greater. This man looked at me in astonish- 
ment, and at last asked me if I intended to beat my 
way. Seeing my lack of understanding, he enquired 
as to my financial resources. On shaking my head 
in the negative, implying that I had no money, he 
said. "No more have I: and if you are agreeable, 
we will both beat our way to Chicago." 

This was Brum, a notorious beggar, who made 
himself at home in all parts of the country, from 
the Atlantic to the Pacific coast, and from the north- 
ern provinces of Canada to the Gulf of Mexico. 
The easy and sumptuous way of his catering made 
me indifferent to all manual labour. In that coun- 
try, where food was to be had for the asking, where 
it often went begging to be received, and people 
were not likely to suffer for their generosity, I be- 
came, under Brum's tutorage, a lazy wretch with 
but little inclination for work. Cockneys make 
good beggars. They are held in high esteem by the 
fraternity in America. Their resources, originality 
and invention, and a never faltering tongue, enable 

[27] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

them to often attain their ends where others fail, 
and they succeed where the natives starve. But 
my friend Brum held them in great scorn, for their 
methods were not his methods. Brum was a genu- 
ine beggar, who did not make flashes in the dark, 
having one day plenty and nothing on the next day. 
What he required he proceeded to beg, every morn- 
ing making an inventory of his wants. Rather than 
wash a good handkerchief he would beg an old one 
that was clean, and he would without compunction 
discard a good shirt altogether rather than sew a 
button on — thus keeping up the dignity of his pro- 
fession to the extreme. He scorned to carry soap, 
but went to a house like a Christian, and asked to 
be allowed to wash, with a request for warm water 
if the morning was cold. Begging was to him a 
fine art, indeed, and a delight of which he never 
seemed to tire. I have known him, when surfeited 
with an abundance of common food, such as steak, 
chops, etc. — ^to beg lozenges and sweets, complain- 
ing I suppose, of throat troubles. Even in a new 
country like America, there are quite a number of 
hostile towns, owing to their lying on the main 
roads between large cities that are not far apart; 
but Brum never seemed to fail, and would certainly 
never lower his dignity by complaining of difficulty. 
In every street, he said, there lived a good Samari- 
tan, and seeing that a good beggar knocks at every 
door, he must ultimately succeed. She may live in 

[28] 



Manhood 

the last house, and therefore the unsuccessful beggar, 
having no patience and perseverance, fails in his 
calling. Brum was a slow man in action and went 
about his business in a dogged way. And that re- 
minds me of how this slowness of action once saved 
his life. We had built a camp fire in the woods, 
within a mile or more of a small town. Now, it 
was Brum's habit, before lying down for the night, 
to wind his handkerchief around his neck, and this 
he had done. Next morning I was the first to rise, 
and Brum, deliberately following my example, began 
in his own easy way to slowly unwind this handker- 
chief, when to my horror a large tarantula fell from 
its folds. Now, had Brum been an impulsive man, 
no doubt the spider would have been squeezed, and 
would have then fastened on his neck and poisoned 
his blood mortally. 

I was soon initiated into the mysteries of beating 
my way by train, which is so necessary in parts of 
that country, seeing the great distances between 
towns. Somethimes we were fortunate enough to 
get an empty car; sometimes we had to ride the 
bumpers; and often, when travelling through a hos- 
tile country, we rode on the roof of a car, so as 
not to give the brakesman an opportunity of striking 
us off the bumpers unawares. It is nothing unusual 
in some parts to find a man, always a stranger, lying 
dead on the track, often cut in many pieces. At 
the inquest they invariably bring in a verdict of ac- 

[29] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

cidental death, but we know different. Therefore 
we rode the car's top, so as to be at no disadvan- . 
tage in a struggle. The brakesman, knowing well I 
that our fall would be his own, would not be too 
eager to commence hostilities. Sometimes we were 
desperate enough to ride the narrow iron rods, which 
were under the car, and only a few feet from the 
track. This required some nerve, for it was not j 
only uncomfortable, but the train, being so near the ^ 
line, seemed to be running at a reckless and uncon- 
trollable speed, whereas, when riding on the car's 
top, a much faster train seems to be running much 
slower and far more smooth and safe. Sometimes 
we were forced to jump off a moving train at the 
point of a revolver. At other times the brakesmen 
were friendly, and even offered assistance in the way 
of food, drink or tobacco. Again, when no firearm 
was in evidence, we had to threaten the brakesman 
with death if he interfered with us. In this way 
Brum and myself travelled the States of America, 
sleeping at night by camp fires, and taking temporary 
possession of empty houses. 

One night, when darkness had overtaken us, be- 
fore we could find a fit and comfortable place for 
camping, we spied a house, and seeing no light in 
the window, presumed it to be unoccupied. We 
knocked at the door, and the hollow sound which 
followed convinced us that no living person was 
then on the premises. When we lifted the latch 

[30] 



Manhood 

and entered we were surprised to see chairs, a table 
and various articles of domestic utility scattered in 
confusion on the floor. In spite of this we pro- 
ceeded to make ourselves easy for the night, and 
coming out again began to feel in the darkness for 
wood. Being successful in our search we returned 
and made a fire, and there we slept until morning. 
As usual, I was the first to rise on the following day, 
and went forth in quest of water to make our break- 
fast coffee. This I soon found, and was bearing it 
along, when my attention was drawn to a board 
nailed to the front of the house. There I saw the 
letters "Haunted," painted large, and ragged, as 
though by a hand that had shaken with fear. If 
we had seen this board on the night previous, no 
doubt we would have hurried on in dread of our 
lives, but as it was, we made our coffee and laughed 
heartily in the daylight. At this time I took a 
notion to work for a few days, but Brum showed 
his grinning face so often that I grew ashamed of 
him, and discharged myself. He seemed to have 
taken a strange liking to me, and would not leave 
me, but swore that not even for my sake would he 
become a working man. 



[31] 



B 



CHAPTER IV 

BRUM 

,RUM was a man of an original turn of mind 
and his ideas were often at variance with 
others. For instance, all tramps in America 
travel on the railroad, whether they walk or take free 
rides. Therefore it seems reasonable to infer that 
the people who live on the outskirts of a town, being 
farthest from the track, would be more in sympathy 
with tramps, for they would see and hear less of 
them. But Brum laughed at this idea, and claimed 
that his own success was through being of a different 
mind. "For," said he, "as all tramps are of that 
opinion, therefore the outskirts are begged too much 
and the centre of the town too little. For in- 
stance," he continued, "here is the railroad depot, 
with its restaurant; now, not one tramp in a hun- 
dred would visit such a place, for it is on their 
direct road, and they believe that it receives far 
too many appeals. This opinion, being so common, 
must prove it to be false. However, we will test 
it and see." Saying which Brum boldly entered 
the restaurant, leaving me to wait outside. It was 
a considerable time before he reappeared, and I 

[32] 



Brum 

began to think that he was being supplied with a 
meal on the premises, but at last he came, carrying 
in his hand a large paper parcel. "The place is as 
good as gold," said he, "for here we have a day's 
provisions for two. Take it down the track to that 
clump of woods," said he, "for the waiter promised 
that did I bring a jug or can he would supply me 
with hot coffee." I started at once towards the 
woods with this bag, the weight of which proved 
the presence of either much meat or pudding; while 
Brum made his way to a small house near the rail- 
road to see if he could borrow a can. It was not 
long after this when we were seated in the shady 
green wood with the contents of this parcel before 
us, which were found to consist of a number of chops, 
bread and butter, some potatoes and cake. These, 
with a quart or more of good hot coffee, made such 
a meal as a working man could only reasonably 
expect once a week — the day being Sunday. 

One of Brum's peculiarities was, on approaching 
a town, to look out for a church steeple with a cross, 
which denoted a Catholic church, and therefore a 
Catholic community. Making his way in the direc- 
tion of that cross he would begin operations in its 
surrounding streets, "and," said he, "if I fail in that 
portion of the town, I shall certainly not succeed 
elsewhere." 

I shall never forget the happy summer months 
I spent with Brum at the seaside. Some of the 

[33] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

rich merchants there could not spare more than a 
month or six weeks from business, but, thanks be 
to Providence, the whole summer was at our dis- 
posal. If we grew tired of one town or, as more 
often the case, the town grew tired of us, we would 
saunter leisurely to the next one and again pitch 
our camp ; so on, from place to place, during the 
1 summer months. We moved freely among the visi- 
tors, who apparently held us in great respect, for 
they did not address us familiarly, but contented 
themselves with staring at a distance. We lay across 
their runs on the sands and their paths in the woods ; 
we monopolised their nooks in the rocks and took 
possession of caves, and not a murmur heard, except 
from the sea, which of a certainty could not be 
laid to our account. No doubt detectives were in 
these places, but they were on the look out for pick- 
pockets, burglars and swindlers; and, seeing that 
neither the visitors nor the boarding house keepers 
made any complaint, these detectives did not think 
it worth while to arrest tramps; for there was no 
promotion to be had by doing so. "Ah," I said to 
Brum, as we sat in a shady place, eating a large 
custard pudding from a boarding house, using for 
the purpose two self-made spoons of wood — "Ah, 
we would not be so pleasantly occupied as tramps 
in England. We would there receive tickets for 
soup; soup that could be taken without spoons; no 
pleasant picking of the teeth after eating; no sign 

[34] 



Brum 

of a pea, onion or carrot; no sign of anything, 
except flies." Two-thirds of a large custard pudding 
between two of us, and if there was one fault to 
be found with it, it was its being made with too 
many eggs. Even Brum was surprised at his suc- 
cess on this occasion. "Although," as he said, "she 
being a fat lady, I expected something unusual." 
Brum had a great admiration for a fat woman; not 
so much, I believe, as his particular type of beauty, 
but for the good natured qualities he claimed cor- 
pulence denoted. "How can you expect those 
skinny creatures to sympathise with another when 
they half starve their own bodies'?" he asked. He 
often descanted on the excellencies of the fat, to the 
detriment of the thin, and I never yet heard another 
beggar disagree with him. 

After seeing Brum wash the dish, and wipe it 
with his pocket-handkerchief, with a care that almost 
amounted to reverence, and trusting in my own mind 
that the good lady would have the thought and pre- 
caution to wash it again — I settled to a short nap, 
till Brum's return. For there was no knowing how 
long he might be away; he might take a notion to 
beg a shirt, a pair of trousers or shoes, or anything 
else that came to his mind. 

Now, when Brum left, he had on a dark shirt, 
but I was so accustomed to seeing him change his ap- 
pearance with a fresh coat, or a different shaped hat, 
that I was not at all surprised on waking to see 

[35] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

him sitting before me in a clean white shirt with 
a starched front. I said nothing about this change, 
and he was too good a beggar to give unsolicited 
infomiation, which would look too much like boast- 
ing of his own exploits. That he had met another 
of his favourite fat ladies, or perhaps the same one 
had added to her kindness — there was not the least 
doubt. 

Brum's first words rather startled me, for he con- 
tinued the conversation from the place I left off 
previous to my sleep. "When I was in England," 
he began, "I did not experience such hardship as is 
commonly supposed to exist. Beggars there, as here, 
choose the wrong places, and not one in three knows 
which are the best." "Surely," I said, "a good clean 
street of houses with respectable fronts, of moderate 
size, and kept by the better class mechanics, are the 
best?" "And so they would be," he answered, "if 
every beggar did not think so. But let me tell you, 
for your benefit if ever stranded in England, 
the best places for beggars to operate." How I 
learned the truth of his wise teaching, in after days ! 
Every fine looking street you chance upon, pass it; 
but every little court or blind alley you come across, 
take possession without delay, especially if its en- 
trance is under an arch, which hides the approach 
to the houses, making them invisible from the street. 
Such little out of the way places are not only more 
profitable than good streets, but are comparatively 

[36] 



Brum 

safe where the police are unusually severe. Then 
again you should avoid every town that has not 
either a mill, a factory, or a brewery; old fashioned 
towns, quiet and without working people — except 
a few gardeners, coachmen, domestic servants, etc: 
such places where you see a sign at the free libraries 
warning tramps not to enter, and every plot of land 
has its sign — "Beware of the Dog." In towns where 

■ working men are numerous, and the idle rich are 
i" few, such signs are not to be seen. "Of course," 
[ he continued, "your object in England must be 
i- money, for you cannot expect to get meat, cake and 
j- custard pudding in a land where even the rich live 
I' poorer, with regards to diet, than the labouring classes 
h of this country." I remembered these wise thoughts 
j- of Brum, uttered on the shores of the Atlantic, and 
p if I did not profit much by them in my own experi- 
P ence in England, I certainly made enough attempts 

to test their truth. I always kept a keen eye for 

blind alleys, and quiet courts under arches, and 1\ 

invariably came out of one richer than I went in. 

j And what nice quiet places they are for drinking cups 

I' of tea on a doorstep, with only a neighbour or two 

I- to see you, and perhaps thousands of people pass- 

■ ing to and fro in the street at the other side of the 
!' arch. There is no thoroughfare for horses and carts ; 
• no short cut for business men, and the truth of the 
' matter is that a number of the inhabitants them- 
selves, born and bred in the town, know not of the 

[37] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

existence of such places; and others, knowing them, 
would be ashamed to confess their acquaintance with 
them. But Brum knew where to find the kindest 
hearts in England, not in the fine streets and new 
villas, but in the poor little white-washed houses 
in courts and alleys. 



[38] 



CHAPTER V 

A tramp's summer vacation 

WE were determined to be in the fashion, 
and to visit the various delightful water- 
ing places on Long Island Sound. Of 
course it would be necessary to combine business with 
pleasure, and pursue our calling as beggars. With 
the exception of begging our food, which would not 
be difficult, seeing that the boarding houses were 
full, and that large quantities of good stuff were 
being made, there was no reason why we should not 
get as much enjoyment out of life as the summer 
visitors. We would share with them the same sun 
and breeze; we could dip in the surf at our own 
pleasure, and during the heat of the day we could 
stretch our limbs in the green shade, or in the 
shadow of some large rock that overlooked the Sound. 
However we could no longer stand the sultry heat 
of New York, where we had been for several days, 
during which time we had been groaning and gasp- 
ing for air. So I and Brum started out of the City, 
on the way towards Hartford, Connecticut, with the 
intention of walking no more than six miles a day 
along the sea coast. What a glorious time we had; 
the people catered for us as though we were the 

[39] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

only tramps in the whole world, and as if they consid- 
ered it providential that we should call at their houses 
for assistance. The usual order of things changed 
considerably. Cake — which we had hitherto con- 
sidered as a luxury — ^became at this time our common 
food, and we were at last compelled to install plain 
bread and butter as the luxury, preferring it before 
the finest sponge-cake flavoured with spices and eggs. 
Fresh water springs were numerous, gushing joyously 
out of the rocks, or lying quiet in shady nooks; and 
there was many a tramps' camp, with tin cans ready 
to hand, where we could make our coffee and con- 
sume the contents of paper bags. This part of the 
country was also exceptionally good for clothes. 
Summer boarders often left clothes behind, and of 
what use were they to the landladies, for no rag- 
and-bone man ever called at their houses. The truth 
of the matter was that in less than a week I was 
well dressed from head to foot, all of these things 
being voluntary offerings, when in quest of eatables. 
Brum, of course, had fared likewise, but still re- 
tained the same pair of dungarees, which he swore 
he would not discard except at the instance of a 
brand new pair of tweeds. It was this pair of work- 
ing man's trousers which had caused a most regret- 
table mistake. We had just finished begging at one 
of these small watering-places and, loaded with 
booty, were on our way in the direction of the camp 
which, Brum informed me, was half a mile north of 

[40] 



A Tramp's Summer Vacation 

the town. When we reached this camp we found it 
occupied by one man, who had just then made his 
coffee and was about to eat. On which Brum asked 
this man's permission to use his fire, which would 
save us the trouble of making one of our own. The 
stranger gave a reluctant consent, and at the same 
time moved some distance away, as though he did not 
wish further intimacy. While we were gathering 
wood and filling our cans at the spring, I could not 
help but see this stranger glaring hatefully at my 
companion's trousers, and expected every moment to 
hear some insulting remark. At last we were ready 
and Brum proceeded to unload himself. He had 
eight or nine parcels of food distributed about his 
clothes, but in such a way that no one could be the 
wiser. It was then that I noted a change come over 
the stranger's face, who seeing the parcels, seemed 
to be smitten with remorse. In another moment 
he was on his feet and coming towards us, said im- 
pulsively — "Excuse me, boys, for not giving you a 
more hearty welcome, but really — " glancing again 
at my companion's trousers — "I thought you were 
working men, but I now see that you are true beg- 
gars." Brum laughed at this, and mentioned that 
others had also been deceived. He explained that 
the said trousers had been given him against his 
wish, but on seeing that they were good, and were 
likely to outlast several pairs of cloth, he had re- 
solved to stick to them for another month or two. 

[41] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

"I regret having had such an opinion of you," said 
the stranger, in a choking voice, "and trust, boys, 
that you will forgive me." Thus ended in a friendly 
spirit what promised at first to become very un- 
pleasant. 

This stranger turned out to be New Haven Baldy. 
We had never had the pleasure of meeting him be- 
fore, but had often heard of him. He had a great 
reputation in the State of Connecticut, which he 
never left — except for an annual trip through 
Massachusetts to the city of Boston. There was not 
one good house in the former State that was not 
known to Baldy, This was put to the test in our 
presence, that very day. A man came to the camp 
who, poor fellow, claimed to be a hard-working man. 
He had lost his job and had been robbed of his 
savings, now being forced to walk home to Meriden. 
He had never begged in his life, and had now been 
without food for two days, and was almost too 
weak to continue his journey. "Yes," said Baldy, 
"and when you are settled at home, and the wrinkles 
are taken out of you, what sympathy will you have 
with us? You will tell us to go and work for our 
living, the same as yourself." The poor fellow pro- 
tested, saying that he had never known his mother 
to refuse any man food. At this Baldy pricked up 
his ears and enquired of the stranger his mother's 
address. On hearing the name of the street Baldy 
at once proceeded to describe the one — and only one 

[42] 



A Tramp's Summer Vacation 

— good house to be found there : "That is our house," 
said the stranger. Baldy, not yet convinced, asked 
for a description of the old lady and her husband. 
This was given, to Baldy's satisfaction. "Well," 
said he, "I have had many a meal at your house, and 
you shall now have one with me." Saying which 
he gave the stranger a parcel which, being spread on 
the grass, was seen to contain several meat sand- 
wiches and a number of small cakes. After eating 
these, and others from Brum, the stranger left, say- 
ing that he would not again feel hungry until he 
reached home. 

After the stranger had gone Baldy laughed im- 
moderately. "That man's father," said he, "was 
a railroad man, who became boss, and at last re- 
tired on a comfortable little sum. In the kitchen, 
where the old people have often fed me, the old 
man has hung on the wall the shovel which he had 
used in his early days. There it is to be seen tas- 
selled and kept shining bright, and treated reverently 
as a family heirloom. How I have laughed," con- 
tinued Baldy, "to see that shovel, to think what a 
simple old fellow he must be to take a pride in 
showing how he toiled in his early life. Every 
time I go there the old man points at the shovel with 
pride, and I have as much as I can do to keep a 
calm face in listening to its history. But in spite of 
all that the old man is a good sort, and I am glad 
to have been able to assist his son." 

[43] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

Alas, what a disastrous end was ours I When we 
reached the town of New Haven, we began to beg 
from passersby in the open streets and in less than 
an hour were in jail. On being brought up next 
morning before the judge, we were each sentenced 
to thirty days. But what hurt our feelings most was 
the personal comment of the judge — that we were 
two brawny scoundrels who would not work if we 
had the chance. However true this might be as 
applied to us in a moral sense, it certainly was not 
a literal fact, for we were both small men. People 
who, not seeing us, would read this remark in the 
local paper, would be misled as to our personal ap- 
pearance. I am doubtful whether any Judge is just- 
ified in using such a term. At any rate, thirty days 
had to be served. 

We were in a far better position than an Italian 
who was waiting to be tried for murder, and whose 
cell was not far distant from ours. 

At this jail we had to perform the light labour of 
caning chairs, and were well treated in the way of 
food and sleeping accommodation and, in addition, 
received a liberal supply of chewing tobacco. 

Being interested in the Italian, the first thing we 
did on regaining our liberty was to enquire as to 
his fate. We were told that he had received a life 
sentence; or, as our alien informant strangely ex- 
pressed it — "Antonia, he didn't get some of de time, 
but he got all of de time." 

[44] 



A Tramp's Summer Vacation 

Thus what promised to be a summer's outing full 
of enjoyment, came to a disastrous close sooner than 
we expected. And, when we were again free, the 
summer season was practically over, the visitors were 
gradually leaving for their town houses ; which meant 
that our treatment at the boarding houses would 
become colder and colder in accordance with the 
number of boarders. 

At this time I accepted employment as a wood- 
chopper, but unfortunately the work did not last; 
and just as I began to feel the inclination for this 
more respectable life, I was discharged, much to 
Brum's delight, who was apparently disgusted with 
this new innovation called work, and could not under- 
stand any man's desire for it. 



[45] 



CHAPTER VI 

A night's ride 

ALTHOUGH I had at this time become lazy, 
losing almost all sense of respectability, I 
often reproached Brum for the aimlessness 
of this existence ; telling him we must seek work and 
attend to other wants than those of the body. I 
would tell him of the arts, and how the cultivation 
of them was lost to us through a continual lack of 
funds. I told him of the pleasures of reading, visit- 
ing picture galleries, museums and theatres, and of 
the wonders of instrumental music, and of the human 
voice. Once when we were passing through a street 
in New Orleans^ I paused to listen to a woman sing- 
ing. Brum, like the faithful companion he was, 
waited my pleasure, until he too seemed to become 
impressed by some unusual feeling. The song 
ended, and as we went our way, I said — "There, 
Brum, what do you think of that^" "O lor," he 
answered, awestruck, "wasn't she a blooming cat I" 
making me laugh heartily at such a strange expres- 
sion of praise, knowing that it was meant to be truth- 
ful and sincere. 

Having done a few days' work, as mentioned in 

[46] 



A Night's Ride 

the preceding chapter, I resolved to come to an under- 
standing with Brum at once as to our future plans. 
With this end in view, I invited him to a drink, and 
thus began: "What do you intend doing ^ Your 
life is not mine. We often go for days without 
reading matter, and we know not what the world is 
saying; nor what the world is doing. The beauty 
of nature is for ever before my eyes, but I am cer- 
tainly not enriching my mind, for who can contem- 
plate Nature with any profit in the presence of others. 
I have no leisure to make notes in hopes of future 
use, and am so overpacking my memory with all these 
scenes, that when their time comes for use, they will 
not then take definite shape. I must go to work for 
some months, so that I may live sparingly on my 
savings in some large city, where I can cultivate my 
mind." Now, Brum's method of begging was dif- 
ferent in large cities from what it was in the country. 
In the latter he found no use for money, except for 
hair cutting or shaving; and when this became neces- 
sary he never failed to get the requisite amount for 
his purpose. When he was ready to have this office 
performed, it was his custom to interview the Cath- 
olic priest of the community, and beg the use of his 
razor, knowing it was part of that person's creed to 
shave continually. Of course, the priest would not 
think of lending his razor to an entire stranger, but 
seldom refused the ten cents that were necessary for 
that operation. But in the large cities, Brum 

[47] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

scorned private houses, and begged money in the 
streets, and in their various stores; purchased his 
meals at a restaurant, and paid his lodgings like 
an honest man. Therefore, thinking my discontent 
was mainly owing to the lack of funds, he said — 
"All this haste from place to place is not at all to 
my liking. If you wish to settle in a large city, I can 
guarantee two dollars a day at the least, between us, 
for a visit to the theatre, music hall, for books, papers, 
or an occasional glass of grog." "No, no," I said, 
"we must either work or part. There are three 
dollars, half of my earnings, so please yourself 
whether we work or part, whether you go or stay; 
for I have already decided my own course. What is 
it to be?" "Well," said he, after a long pause, "we 
are now near to the hop country, and they start pick- 
ing sometime next week ; that is about the only work 
to be had at this time of the year." 

Upon this we had several drinks, for I was so 
pleased at Brum's decision, that I ordered drink after 
drink with bewildering succession. Brum informed 
me of a freight train that was to leave the yards at 
midnight, on which we could beat our way to a small 
town on the borders of the hop country. Not know- 
ing what to do with ourselves until that time arrived, 
we continued to drink until we were not in a fit 
condition for this hazardous undertaking — except 
we were fortunate to get an empty car, so as to lie 
down and sleep upon the journey. At last we made 

[48] 



A Night's Ride 

our way towards the yards, where we saw the men 
making up the train. We kept out of sight until 
that was done and then in the darkness Brum in- 
spected one side of the train and I the other, in quest 
of an empty car. In vain we sought for that com- 
fort. There was nothing to do but to ride the 
bumpers or the top of the car, exposed to the cold 
night air. We jumped the bumpers, the engine 
whistled twice, toot I toot I and we felt ourselves 
slowly moving out of the yards. Brum was on one 
car and I was on the next facing him. Never shall 
I forget the horrors of that ride. He had taken 
fast hold on the handle bar of his car, and I had 
done likewise with mine. We had been riding some 
fifteen minutes, and the train was going at its full 
speed when, to my horror, I saw Brum lurch for- 
ward, and then quickly pull himself straight and 
erect. Several times he did this, and I shouted to 
him. It was no use, for the man was drunk and 
fighting against the overpowering effects, and it was 
a mystery to me how he kept his hold. At last he 
became motionless for so long that I knew the next 
time he lurched forward his weight of body must 
break his hold, and he would fall under the wheels 
and be cut to pieces. I worked myself carefully to- 
wards him and woke him. Although I had great dif- 
ficulty in waking him, he swore that he was not 
asleep. I had scarcely done this when a lantern was 
shown from the top of the car, and a brakesman's 

[49] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

voice hailed us. "Hallo, where are you two going'?" 
'To the hop fields," I answered. "Well," he 
sneered, "I guess you won't get to them on this train, 
so jump off, at once. Jump I d'ye hear^" he cried, 
using a great oath, as he saw we were little inclined 
to obey. Brum was now wide awake. "If you 
don't jump at once," shouted this irate brakesman, 
"you will be thrown off." "To jump," said Brum 
quietly, "will be sure death, and to be thrown off 
will mean no more." "Wait until I come back," 
cried the brakesman, "and we will see whether you 
ride this train or not," on which he left us, making 
his way towards the caboose. "Now," said Brum, 
"when he returns we must be on the top of the car, 
for he will probably bring with him a coupling pin 
to strike us off the bumpers, making us fall under 
the wheels." We quickly clambered on top and in 
a few minutes could see a light approaching us, 
moving along the top of the cars. We were now 
lying flat, so that he might not see us until he stood 
on the same car. He was very near to us, when we 
sprang to our feet, and unexpectedly gripped him, 
one on each side, and before he could recover from 
his first astonishment. In all my life I have never 
seen so much fear on a human face. He must have 
seen our half drunken condition and at once gave up 
all hopes of mercy from such men, for he stood help- 
less, not knowing what to do. If he struggled it 
would mean the fall and death of the three, and did 

[50] 



A Night's Ride 

he remain helpless in our hands, it might mean being 
thrown from that height from a car going at the 
rate of thirty miles an hour. "Now," said Brum to 
him, '"what is it to be*? Shall we ride this train 
without interference, or shall we have a wrestling 
bout up here, when the first fall must be our last*? 
Speak^" "Boys," said he, affecting a short laugh, 
"you have the drop on me; you can ride." We 
watched him making his way back to the caboose, 
which he entered, but every moment I expected to 
see him reappear assisted by others. It might have 
been that there was some friction among them, and 
that they would not ask assistance from one another. 
For instance, an engineer has to take orders from the 
conductor, but the former is as well paid, if not 
better, than the latter, and the most responsibility 
is on his shoulders, and this often makes ill blood 
between them. At any rate, American tramps know 
well that neither the engineer nor fireman, his 
faithful attendant, will inform the conductor or 
brakesman of their presence on a train. Perhaps 
the man was ashamed of his ill-success, and did not 
care to own his defeat to the conductor and his fel- 
low brakesmen; but whatever was the matter, we 
rode that train to its destination and without any 
more interference. 

As we neared the town we saw a large camp fire 
in a small dingle near the track, at which a man 
lay asleep. Seeing this comfortable sight, and being 

[51] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

cold and tired, we made up our minds to jump off 
the train as soon as possible, and to return to that 
fire for a few hours' comfort. The whistle blew for 
the station, and the train began gradually to slacken 
speed, when we jumped from the bumpers; and 
our limbs being stiff, we staggered and fell, but re- 
ceived no hurt. It must have been a mile or more 
back to that place, but we arrived there in due time, 
and without waking its solitary occupant, were soon 
stretched out fast asleep on the other side of the fire. 
When we awoke the stranger had already been to 
town, had returned with food, and was now making 
coffee in a tomato can, all of which he generously 
offered to share with us. This I gladly accepted, 
but Brum declined with thanks, saying that he was 
always capable of getting his own meals, and if 
needs be, could beg enough for half a dozen others. 
I gave this stranger my entire confidence, and soon 
learnt that he had come to these parts for the same 
purpose. "We three," said he, "will work together 
on the same land, and under the one master. I am 
a moulder by trade," he continued, "and a week 
ago I had a hundred dollars saved, but went on the 
spree, and am now probably without a cent." To 
my surprise, at this stage of the narrative, he unlaced 
his right boot and began to feel in its toes, at the 
same time shaking his head despondently. After 
which he put it on again and laced it. "Yes," he 



A Night's Ride 

said, taking off his coat and feeling the lining, "a 
week ago I had a hundred dollars saved." 

Brum, having now returned from town laden with 
sandwiches, cakes, etc., and he having had a hot 
dinner from a convent we packed those necessaries 
for future use, and started on foot for the hopfields. 
Every now and then the stranger — whom Brum at 
once called Australian Red, owing to his being born 
in that country, and his having a florid complexion 
— would try our patience extremely by sitting on 
fallen timber and taking off his boot, sometimes 
the two; and after feeling in them, replacing them 
on his feet, with a sigh of disappointment. Often 
he would take off his hat and minutely examine the 
lining, to our unfeigned astonishment. At one time 
we lost patience with him. He had seen a low 
stack of timber, and requested a few moments de- 
lay. On this being granted, Australian Red began 
to take off his garments one by one, and to examine 
them. Not one article was placed aside without 
having undergone a thorough scrutiny, until nothing 
but his shirt remained. All this waste of time was 
very trying to our patience, and when he was again 
dressed, we requested him at once for all to put a 
stop to such manoeuvres. We walked on in silence, 
but had scarcely covered a short mile, when Red 
was seen to be preparing to strip for another in- 
vestigation. On seeing which Brum, losing a little 

[53] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

patience, said: — "Look here, old fellow, if such is 
going to be your conduct, you can't, on no account, 
travel any further with us," For a time Australian 
Red looked undecided, and then let his coat slip 
back to its position. "It is like this," he said, "I 
am a moulder by trade; a week ago I had a hun- 
dred dollars saved, but where are they now"? It is 
always my custom," he continued, "when I go on 
the spree, to secrete my money in some safe place. 
Although I have no recollection of doing so, I am 
positively assured that such has been the case; and 
would not be surprised at any moment to discover 
a twenty dollar bill in the lining of my clothes; 
but, with regards to the boots, I am now thoroughly 
satisfied." When I became better acquainted with 
Australian Red, this peculiarity was often made ap- 
parent to me. Perhaps he did secrete money, for 
I have oftened wondered as to where it had vanished. 
Whether or not, it was certainly never to be found 
on his person, and must have been slipped under the 
mat in strange places, dropped into vases, or hidden 
behind looking glasses. 

In a day or two we reached the hop-fields and 
all three succeeded in being hired by the same farmer. 
This could not have very well been different, as 
neither one would have otherwise worked. The sea- 
son, if I remember right, lasted between three and 
four weeks, which we began and finished, but were 
not very well satisfied with the financial result. 

[54] 



A Night's Ride 

Our total earnings were, clear of all expenses, about 
forty dollars, and with that amount we walked to 
the nearest large town intending to beat our way 
to New York and paint it a forty dollar red. We 
reached the said town, and made enquiries of a 
switchman as to when the next freight train would 
be leaving for New York. The sight of a flask of 
whiskey in the hands of Australian Red enlightened 
us considerably as to the time of trains, their quali- 
fication for carrying human freight, and the cruel 
or kind disposition of their attendant crews. We 
made choice of a train leaving about dusk, and find- 
ing an empty car on a side track, we entered it, to 
wait as patiently as possible until that time came. 
We were not so quiet as we should have been, con- 
sidering that we were trespassing on the railroad; 
and that is why we were soon startled by a voice 
crying: "What are you doing there*? Do you 
know that you are trespassing on the railroad^" 
With that the marshal of the town stood before the 
open door, showing the star of his authority on his 
dark clothes. 'T can't get any sleep day or night, 
through you fellows," he said; "consider yourselves 
under arrest." Saying this, he marched us off at 
the point of a revolver, and began seeking the judge 
for our trial at that strange hour of the night. 



[5S] 



CHAPTER VII 

LAW IN AMERICA 

AS he marched us along, he made several en- 
quiries as to our finances, to know if we 
were prepared to pay a fine. Being as- 
sured of this he took a very despondent view of our 
case. 

Brum explained afterwards, when it was too late, 
that trespassing on the railroads was always con- 
sidered a very serious offence during this month of the 
year, when men were returning with their small earn- 
ings from the hopfields; which were not sulBcient 
to enable them to travel as passengers. He ex- 
plained that trespassing on the railroad was not only 
overlooked, but was openly encouraged when men 
had to pick hops to fill their pockets; but as soon 
as those pockets were filled by picking hops, the 
local magistrates lost no time in giving the police 
strict orders to fall to, arrest and detain, so that a 
picker's pocket might be picked by them of his little 
earnings. 

The marshal stopped several citizens, enquiring as 
to the whereabouts of a person named Stevens. To 
my surprise, we were not lodged for the night in 

[56] 



Law in America 

the common jail, but were led into a public house, 
which in that country is referred to as a saloon. 
As we entered this place, and stood in front of its 
bar, we did not look much like prisoners. Brum 
called for four drinks, and the marshal drank his 
respect for us in a very friendly manner indeed. 
After which he took the landlord aside for a short 
consultation, in which I heard the man Stevens men- 
tioned more than once. Then he came back and had 
another drink, this time at the expense of Australian 
Red. Some customers now arrived, followed by a 
lean, solemn looking person, whom the marshal took 
no time in accosting as Judge Stevens. This gen- 
tleman at once called for whiskey, then looked from 
the marshal to us, and from us to the marshal, at 
the same time nodding his head approvingly to the 
latter. The marshal cleared his throat and began: 
"I found these men trespassing on the railroad, and 
at once arrested them." The judge again nodded 
his head in approval to this red, burly individual, 
who had made a claim of being robbed of his sleep 
day and night, and turning to us said: "Boys, we 
have to put a stop to these things, drink and follow 
me." He led the way into a small back room, and 
we followed with the marshal, the citizens bringing 
up the rear. The marshal gave evidence of our ar- 
rest, making special mention of our possession of 
money. The judge wished to be informed of the 
exact amount, and being told that it was something 

[57] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

like ten dollars each, summed up the case at once. 
"Boys," he said, "I fine you each five dollars, in de- 
fault of which you must go to Syracuse for thirty 
days" — at which place was the county jail. Now, 
I was always outspoken, and was never forced 
by fear, under any circumstances, to conceal my 
thoughts, which if I saw real injustice or hypocrisy, 
would be blurted out in a more dignified court than 
this. This mock trial, which at first had been highly 
amusing, exasperated when it came to paying half 
of my hard earnings, so I told this judge plainly that 
my friends might please themselves, but that he 
would not get one cent out of me. Brum supported 
me in this, but Australian Red began to finger his 
dollars, whereat the marshal quickly snatched them 
out of his hand, deducted five dollars, which he gave 
to the judge, and returned the rest. Judge Stevens 
looked at us steadily for a time, and then asked this 
astounding question : "Boys, how much are you pre- 
pared to pay*?" Brum, who had very little sense 
of justice, and being such a good beggar, set very 
little value on money, asked the judge if he would 
accept three dollars from each of us. If I had been 
alone at this time I would have paid nothing, but 
to save Brum from going to prison, who I knew 
would support me through all, I satisfied myself that, 
if the judge approved of this amount, I would pay 
it without further comment. The judge appeared 
to weigh the matter seriously, and then cried, with 

[58] 



Law in America 

a magnanimity that was irresistible — "Pass over the 
dollars, boys; you shall have a chance this time." 

The trial was not here ended, as most of us be- 
lieved. A citizen, who had been an interested spec- 
tator of this scene, and who had been fidgetting in 
his seat for some time, now rose to his feet, and 
said — "Where is the justice of this? These men 
are all guilty of the same offence, and yet one is 
fined five dollars, and the other two get off more 
leniently, with the loss of three dollars each; this 
certainly cannot be called justice." At this the 
Judge showed the first signs of passion. "Sir," he 
shouted in wrath, "who is the Judge, I or you? 
If you ever again interfere with our proceedings, in 
this manner, I shall fine you for contempt of court 
— contempt of court, sir, contempt of court." This 
citizen and lover of justice, collapsed stricken with 
awe, bluffed and discouraged. "Come, boys," said 
the Judge, and he led the way back to the bar. 
There, he produced a two dollar bill, which was part 
of our fine, and called for drinks for the house. We 
followed his example, late prisoners and citizens, 
and were all happy together until a late hour. 

The marshal, who seemed to have a little respect 
for me, for having shown the spirit of free speech 
before the judge, took me aside and asked whether 
we intended to take advantage of the invitation 
given by the citizen who had been threatened for 
contempt of court — to spend the night at his house. 

[59] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

"I don't think so," I said; "we have had enough 
of this town, and intend leaving it to-night." 
Shortly after these words we left the saloon, but 
had scarcely reached the street end, when I heard 
steps following, and to my surprise, the marshal was 
soon at our side. Now comes the most extraordinary 
part of this story, which I have often been diffident 
in relating, thinking it would not be credited. 
"Boys," said this burly fellow, who could not get 
any sleep day or night, "get you to the railroad, and 
if any one interferes with you, tell them that the 
marshal sent you; I shall be with you in about 
twenty minutes." We were soon at the railroad, 
were not interfered with, and the marshal followed 
in a short time. "Listen," he said to us, who were 
again trespassers on the railroad, at his pleasure and 
instigation: "There is a train already made up to 
start in five minutes' time; get into this empty car, 
and by heavens, no man shall interfere with you." 
Which we did, and when the train started, the mar- 
shal was there, beside the car, wishing us a pleasant 
good-bye. "Why," said Brum, when I commented 
in astonishment at all this, "it is nothing unusual. 
One day," he began, "I was in a small town in Ohio. 
Seeing a freight train leaving the station, I leaped 
into an empty car, just as the train started. When 
safe inside, I turned and stood in the open doorway, 
and looking out, saw the marshal standing on the 
platform, looking after me, so I waved him a sar- 

[60] 



Law in America 

castic farewell. But the train, instead of increasing 
in speed, began to slow, and coming to a standstill, 
began at once to back towards the station. Before 
I could decide on my course of action, we were 
again standing in front of the station, with my car 
facing the marshal, who seemed to have waited, ex- 
pecting this to happen. 'Hallo,' he cried, 'come out 
of that for you are under arrest.' I was lodged in 
jail, and was next morning brought up for trial. 
The marshal gave evidence as to seeing me jump 
the train, and I was charged with that offence. 
Having no money, I was about to be sent to jail 
when the judge asked the marshal to examine my 
hands which, although I had done no work for a 
number of years, were still hard and horny. I said 
that I was a seafaring man, and exhibited pictures 
of boats and anchors tattooed on my arms, at the 
same time offering to show the Polly Jane in full 
sail across my breast. My strange calling, in that 
inland town more than a thousand miles from the 
coast, appeared to greatly interest the judge, who, 
after several friendly questions, discharged me with 
a caution. Instead of at once taking advantage of 
my freedom, I sat down, waiting the end of the 
court. Another prisoner was then brought up, who 
had been seen loafing on the station platform all 
the previous day. This prisoner pleaded guilty, and 
said that he had waited in vain for hours for a 
freight train to carry him to his destination, he hav- 

[61] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

ing no money to pay his fare as a passenger. 
*'Hold," cried the marshal, "that is a He, for I my- 
self saw a train steaming out when you were loafing 
indifferently on the platform." "Ten dollars, or 
sixty days," said the judge. This will show you 
how one prisoner was charged for stealing a ride on 
a freight train, and another prisoner was charged 
for not doing so as the opportunity occurred, hap- 
pening in the same court, and under the same judge. 
Again," continued Brum, "I know a prisoner, in an 
adjoining state, who was sentenced to ten years for 
embezzlement. The money was never recovered, 
and he probably has it safe until his time expires. 
This prisoner is receiving a salary of ten dollars a 
week for keeping the prison books, is allowed to con- 
verse with any one, and is entrusted to go the rounds 
of the turnkey. He is the one man allowed to wear 
private clothes, and is even allowed at night the 
liberty of a stroll in the open air, and unattended, 
with the one stipulation that he returns before a 
certain hour at night. And," continued Brum, "what 
with the money he has concealed — held probably by 
a relative — and his weekly salary of ten dollars as 
the bookkeeper of the prison, he will never need 
work more, after his sentence is served. But, listen 
to me," continued Brum more earnestly, "some of 
these queer laws are to a tramp's advantage. The 
winter is already here, and promises to be a most 
severe one. Now, if you would like to rest and 

[62] 



Law in America 

grow fat during the coldest months, come with me 
to Michigan. You can there enter jails without 
committing offence of any kind, and take ten, fifteen, 
twenty or thirty days, all at your own sweet discre- 
tion. No work to do, good food to be had, and to- 
bacco daily supplied. There is nothing else but beg- 
ging before you, for the coming winter," said Brum, 
warming to his subject, "but if you like to enter 
with me those blessed havens of rest, where one 
can play cards, smoke or read the time away, you 
will become strong and ready for work when the 
spring of the year arrives." 

This project did not seem to me to be very attrac- 
tive. For one thing, it was a long journey to that 
part of the country, and the weather being cold, we 
were forced to travel at night and sleep in the day. 
I was certainly not a very pleasant companion at this 
time, being occupied so much with my own dreams, 
which ever took the one shape of a small comforta- 
ble room with a cosy fire; books, papers, tobacco, 
with reading and writing in turns. At any rate, 
we decided to follow Brum's suggestion, and, in- 
stead of going to New York, we got off, and took an- 
other road. 

We had a rough time in beating our way to Michi- 
gan. We were marched out of one town by the 
marshal, where we were waiting to catch a train. 
This necessitated us either to walk three miles to 
catch a train as it was on a grade, or to walk ten 

[63] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

miles to the next watering tank, where all freight 
trains stopped. We decided on doing the former. 
To do this required an activity of which I hardly 
thought Brum to be capable. The grade was long 
and before the train reached the top, its speed would 
be slackened to about ten miles an hour, or less, if 
it had heavy freight. It was necessary to lie low, 
and out of sight, until the train appeared, and then 
run beside it, so as to leap and catch the handle 
bar, the feet at the same time catching the iron step ; 
after doing which we could step on to the bumpers, 
or climb the ladder to the top of the car. If either 
the hand or foot failed to do its duty, it meant a fall, 
and a very serious accident or death. I was the 
youngest and most active, and leapt the first part 
of the train. As soon as I was safe I looked around 
the car, and had the pleasure of seeing Australian 
Red succeed just three cars behind, and Brum suc- 
ceeding on the next car to him. When we reached 
the next stopping place, we all got together on the 
same car, so as to be prepared for any trouble with 
the train's crew. A brakesman passed over the top, 
and shouted to us in a friendly manner; passed and 
re-passed several times before the train reached its 
destination, but treated our presence with the utmost 
indifference, which is often the case in that part of 
America. 

What a difference it made in our feeling, this 
changing of seasons I It seemed but a few days ago 

[64] 



Law in America 

the birds were singing, the orchards were heavy and 
mellow with fruit, and we could sleep in the open 
air all night. It was now necessary to light great 
fires, when the front parts of our bodies burned whilst 
a cold chill crept up and down the spine; and the 
first fall of snow, which was likely to occur at any 
time, would soon make it difficult to enjoy even this 
small comfort. 

At last we reached a small town in Michigan 
which. Brum informed us, was the county town ; and 
which, said he, chuckling with delight, had an ex- 
ceedingly pleasant jail. 



[65] 



N' 



CHAPTER VIII 

A PRISONER HIS OWN JUDGE 

' ''^ "y OW," said Brum, as the freight train 
steamed into the town and came to a 
standstill, "we must see the marshal." 
With this end in view we walked towards the pas- 
senger depot, which, Brum informed us, was visited 
by the marshal several times a day, so that he might 
the better accost such tramps as were going through 
that town. We arrived at that place and stamped 
up and down the platform, to circulate our blood, for 
it was now snowing heavily, and the wind blowing 
in small gusts that discovered us, shelter wherever we 
would. 

How the snow falls in the north ! Flake on flake 
falling incessantly, until the small dingles are almost 
on a level with the uplands. It throws itself on 
the leaves of Autumn, and holds them down in se- 
curity from the strongest winds. It piles great 
banks against people's doors, and mothers and daugh- 
ters are made prisoners to their own hearths, until 
fathers and sons set to and cut a path to the open 
thoroughfare. Special snow trains are at work 
clearing the track to make the way easier for passen- 

[66] 



A Prisoner His Own Judge 

ger trains and freight trains that run on passenger 
hnes, being loaded with cattle or other perishable 
goods ; whilst other freight is often delayed for days, 
and sometimes weeks. 

We had been here some fifteen minutes, when we 
saw the marshal coming down the road leading to 
the station, the bright star of his authority being 
seen distinctly on his breast. "Now," said Brum, 
"let me be the spokesman, and I will arrange for 
a month's comfort." By this time the marshal 
stood before us. "Boys," he began, "cold weather 
for travelling, eh?" "We don't feel the cold," was 
Brum's reply. "You will though," said the mar- 
shal, "this is but the beginning, and there is a long 
and severe winter before you, without a break. You 
would certainly be better off in jail. Sixty days 
in our jail, which is considered one of the best, if not 
the best, in Michigan, would do you no harm, I 
assure you." "As for that," said Brum, "we might 
take thirty days each, providing of course, that you 
made it worth while. What about tobacco and a 
drink or two of whiskey?" "That'll be all right," 
said the marshal, "here's half a dollar for a drink, 
and the sheriff will supply your tobacco." "No, 
no," objected Brum, "give us a dollar and three 
cakes of tobacco, and we will take thirty days, and 
remember, not a day over." The marshal produced 
the three cakes of tobacco, seeming to be well pre- 
pared for these demands, and giving us a paper dol- 

[67] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

lar, requested us to go to Donovan's saloon, which 
we would find in the main street, where he would 
see us later in the day; "when of course," he added, 
winking, "you will be supposed to be just a bit 
merry." 

"What is the meaning of all this?" I asked Brum, 
as we went our way to Mr. Donovan's saloon. "It 
simply means this," he said, "that the marshal gets 
a dollar each for every arrest he makes — in our case 
three dollars; the judge receives three or four dollars 
for every conviction, and the sheriff of the jail is 
paid a dollar a day for boarding each prisoner under 
his charge; we benefit by a good rest, warmth, good 
food and plenty of sleep, and the innocent citizens 
have to pay for it all." 

We had not much difficulty in finding Donovan's 
saloon, which we entered, and called for whiskey. 
It so happened that two strangers were there, who 
had made a considerable stake in the backwoods, 
and had come to this town to squander their earn- 
ings. We therefore came into many a free drink, 
through the liberality of these men. About an hour 
and a half had elapsed when we discovered ourselves 
to be alone in the bar, and without means of pro- 
curing more liquor. "We had better be going," said 
Brum, and we passed into the street. Brum saw 
the marshal coming up the road and began singing 
in a lusty voice, to the astonishment of some of the 
storekeepers. Australian Red, being the worse for 

[68] 



A Prisoner His Own Judge 

drink, and forgetting that we had only to feign this 
part, began to roar like a bull, merry in earnest. On 
this the marshal quickly crossed the street and in 
the hearing of several citizens, shouted in an au- 
thoritative voice: — "I arrest you for being drunk 
and disorderly," and we followed him like lambs. 
We were then led to the sheriff's house, adjoining 
the jail. That gentleman, being in, received us with 
open arms saying — "Welcome, boys, you want thirty 
days, and thirty you shall have, no more or less; 
and you will be none the worse for it, I promise 
you, at the end of the month." He then made a 
few casual items in a large book, roughly descriptive 
of our weight, height, and personal appearance, and 
then led the way through two or three corridors, 
until we were confronted by a large iron door. This 
he opened with an iron key, and we were ushered 
into a large room, where were assembled between 
thirty or forty prisoners. Some were reading, some 
were pacing to and fro, and several batches of them 
were playing cards. What a reception we had, 
bringing in a fresh supply of information from the 
outside. "Have you seen Detroit Fatty?" asked 
one. "Or the Saginaw Kid"?" asked another. "Or 
Chicago Slim?" asked another. Brum, who seemed 
to know these wonderful persons, answered accord- 
ing to his knowledge. 

In this large room, for the common use of the 
prisoners, were twenty or more cells, to which they 

[69] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

retired for sleep, but were never locked in — except 
maybe, an occasional prisoner, who might be waiting 
trial under a charge of grand larceny, manslaughter, 
or murder. Supper was soon brought in, and it was 
a good substantial meal. Its quantity seemed to 
be more than idle men needed, if they had three such 
meals every day, and its quality would satisfy me 
in any position in life. What a pleasure it was that 
night to be in warmth, and with our minds eased 
of a month's anxiety. "What time are you going 
to do*?" asked one. "Thirty days," answered Brum. 
"Plenty," said the other. "There is more jails than 
this, and not much difference in them, and to go out 
in the cold for a day or two makes us better appre- 
ciate the warmth and comfort within." 

Next morning we were taken by the sheriff to 
the court-house, where a number of town people were 
assembled, owing to the more interesting trial of a 
local man. I have often thought with amusement 
of this scene. Despite the judge's severe expression, 
and his solemn deliberate utterance, we knew what 
to expect, — thirty days, no more or less. The sheriff 
whispered to the judge, and the judge nodded sagely, 
at the same time casting his eyes in our direction. 
We were charged with being drunk and disorderly, 
and with disturbing the public peace. "He did not 
see," he said, "why peaceable citizens should be dis- 
turbed in this way by drunken strangers, and would 
fine us seven dollars and costs, in default of which 

[70] 



A Prisoner His Own Judge 

we would be lodged in the county jail for thirty 
days." We were then led back by the sheriff, and 
when we were again among the prisoners, they seemed 
to express very little curiosity as to our sentences, 
knowing it was our wish that we should receive thirty 
days, and that the judge was at our pleasure — we 
being in fact our own judges. 

Every morning the sheriff required half a dozen 
prisoners to sweep and clean the court-house, which 
was situated about half a mile from the jail. Aus- 
tralian Red and myself went with him several morn- 
ings, for a little fresh air, but prisoners could please 
themselves, and Brum, I know, never left the jail 
during the whole thirty days. It was an understood 
thing that any prisoner could discharge himself on 
these occasions, if inclined, without any fear of cap- 
ture. The Marshal and the Judge had had their 
dollars for arrest and conviction, and I suppose, the 
sheriff charged for board and lodging, without men- 
tion of a prisoner's escape. Perhaps they were 
afraid of bringing back an escaped prisoner, for fear 
he might make some awkward disclosures. At any 
rate, liberty could be had by a very deliberate walk 
and there was certainly no need to make a desperate 
dash for it. Of course, there was no reason why 
any prisoner should seek to escape these conditions, 
which were of his own seeking, and which, during 
this unpleasant time of the year, could not in any 
way be bettered by homeless men. 

[71] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

After serving our sentence, and the sheriff exact- 
ing a promise from us to return again that winter, 
if not the following, we sought another jail some 
twenty miles from the last, which prisoners had 
spoken highly of. We were told that there was no 
necessity at this place of going through the form of 
an arrest, but that we could go straight in out of the 
cold. The Sheriff would at once receive us at his 
house, learn our wants, while the judge would attend 
to us on the following morning. 

We arrived at this place, and everything turned 
out as described. The jail was no different from 
the other. We were catered for as customers that 
would, if treated with courtesy and good living, re- 
turn winter after winter, and patronise this place 
in preference to visiting the more congenial climate 
of the south. At this place we sentenced ourselves 
to another thirty days. Our room, like the other, 
was a large iron cage, in which were twenty-four 
cells in a double row, main floor and gallery, like 
little cages within it. As we entered this large cage, 
the sheriff opening the iron door, a number of jail- 
birds were singing merrily, not for liberty, but en- 
joying such captivity. There was only one real 
prisoner here, who was waiting trial under a charge 
of manslaughter, and he was the one prisoner to be 
locked in his cell at night; and, in that cell, had 
waited trial a most cold blooded murderer. Here 

[72] 



A Prisoner His Own Judge 

we had the usual amusements of card playing, sing- 
ing and relating experiences. 

The real prisoner — for none of the others had 
been guilty of any offence, having entered of their 
own free will — was very unfortunate in having a 
pair of wags quartered in the cell above him. These 
two practical jokers made a figure of their bed 
clothes, and letting it down, dangled it in front of 
this prisoner's cell. The poor wretch, happening to 
be awake, and thinking this was Bill Henderson, 
murderer, and late occupant of the cell, come to 
haunt him, leaped from his bed, crying with a hor- 
ror-stricken voice — "Bill Henderson, by God !" Be- 
fore he could recover from his fear and make a more 
calm investigation, the figure was withdrawn. All 
this happened as expected, and the prisoners were 
delighted, for they had been hinting all day about 
Bill Henderson's ghost, so that it might take hold 
of this poor wretch's nerves. Once only during the 
night was this accomplished, so that their victim 
might have no suspicion as to its being a genuine 
ghost. Every time the sheriff appeared the prisoner 
complained to him of this ghost murderer, plead- 
ing for a removal, or an early trial. That gentle- 
man invariably listened with a sarcastic smile, seem- 
ing to have some notion of the truth, by glancing 
at the faces of the other prisoners. How these 
sheriffs, marshals and constables, despise cowardice, 

[73] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

and how they respect the intrepidity of dangerous 
men. Many a sheriff, I believe, has surrendered 
his prison keys to the lynchers and the lawless mobs, 
forgetting his duty in disgust at the exhibition of 
fear in one for whom he is responsible. And many 
a sheriff would lay down his life to protect a crimi- 
nal who with cool nerve faces his cell, callous and 
indifferent. 

We visited, and were entertained, in several jails 
during this winter, and emerged from the last in the 
middle of April. 

I have heard since that this system of boodle, as 
it was called, was in the following winter entirely 
squashed. A sheriff, it seemed, being of an avari- 
cious disposition, had interfered with the quality and 
quantity of the prisoners' rations. Therefore, when 
respectable citizens visited the jail to speak a few 
sympathetic words to the prisoners, which they usu- 
ally did on Sunday, those discontented jail-birds 
complained of insufficient picking; and informed the 
citizens that they had been guilty of no offence; that 
they had entered the jail through being promised 
enjoyment, and that those expectations had not been 
realised. On hearing this, the citizens formed a 
committee, and soon discovered the whole system to 
be rotten. Seeing how they had been robbed, they 
deposed several officers and the upshot of it was that 

[74] 



A Prisoner His Own Judge 

travellers never again visited that part of America 
in quest of comfortable jails. 

For a day or two the least exertion tired us, owing 
to our winter's inactivity, but take it all in all, we 
were certainly in good bodily condition. It was 
now that Australian Red made his first proposal. 
He knew a fruit farm, where he had been previously 
employed, "in this very State," said he, "on the 
shores of Lake Michigan." "How long does the 
work last^" I asked. "All the summer," he an- 
swered, "and good pay for an active man." "All 
right," I said, "if I can make a pretty fair stake, 
I shall then return to England and home." Brum 
agreeing to this, we lit a fire that evening near a water 
tank, intending to take the first freight train that 
came our way. When the train arrived, we still 
dallied at the fire, which was a considerable distance 
from the track. It whistled before we expected and 
began its journey. "Break away," cried Australian 
Red, making a rush for the departing train. The 
speed of the train was increasing and when I reached 
its side I was almost afraid to attempt to board 
it. Australian Red succeeded, but when we reached 
the next stopping place, we were greatly disap- 
pointed to find that Brum had been left behind. 
We got off and waited the arrival of other trains, 
thinking that he would soon follow us, but as Brum 

[75] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

did not appear on any of them, we continued our 
journey, thinking to see him later. I never saw 
him again. He had complained of the year not be- 
ing sufficiently aired for freedom, and had proposed 
another short term in jail. No doubt, after losing 
us he had done this. 



[76] 



CHAPTER IX 

BERRY PICKING 

WE reached the fruit country a week or 
two before picking commenced, but 
although we were in advance of time, 
and without a cent, the generosity of the farmers 
supplied all our wants. The authorities did not in 
the least interfere with us, though we lit large camp 
fires on the outskirts of the towns, took possession of 
hay ricks and empty out-houses, and loafed for hours 
in their principal streets. They knew well that the 
assistance of every man would be needed to strip 
the vines of their berries, which promised a supply 
exceeding that of former years. Friday morning, it 
being generally known that picking was to commence 
on the following Tuesday, Australian Red remarked 
that it was now time to interview the farmer, for 
whom he had previously worked. With this object 
in view, we left the pretty inland port of St. Joseph, 
and strolling leisurely, we reached that farm in two 
hours, it being only five miles from the town. The 
farmer and his wife, who employed several servants 
of both sexes, but were without children of their 

[77] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

own, at once recognised Australian Red, and gave 
him a kindly welcome, which spoke well for Red's 
gentlemanly behaviour in the past. The old man 
told him, in his bad English, that there would al- 
ways be plenty of work for Red, and for others whom 
he might bring with him. 

I was about twenty-three years of age at this 
time, appeared much younger and not in any way 
looking like a dangerous youth, was soon on the 
best of terms with the old people. So much so, that 
at the end of the summer, when the pickers were 
leaving, the result being as satisfactory to themselves 
as to the farmer, the kind old couple inveigled me 
into a private place and proposed to adopt me as 
their own son, and that they would teach me how 
to run the farm, which they said would become 
mine at their death. The only way to answer these 
kind people was to say that I already had a good 
home, and parents living in England, and that I in- 
tended to return there with the profits of this sum- 
mer's work. 

The earliest fruit was the strawberries, whose vines 
grew from six inches to a foot above the ground. 
We knelt in the hot blazing sun which beat so pow- 
erfully on our bended necks that the flesh became 
in a day or two the dark colour of walnut stain. 
The soil, being dry and sandy burned through the 
clothing until our knees were covered with a rash. 
The effect of this extreme heat often affected peo- 

[78] 



Berry Picking 

pie's reasons, and sometimes killed them outright. 
Berry picking in the South has other dangers of a 
worse kind. I shall never forget seeing a man leap 
screaming to his feet, at the same time wringing his 
right hand in agony. He had parted the thick vines, 
in quest of the berries that were concealed under the 
leaves, and in doing so, had disturbed a deadly snake, 
which had bitten his offending hand. The snake 
was very small, but far more deadly than many 
others of twenty times its length and weight. Sev- 
eral deaths occurred this way in my berry picking 
experience in the South. There was not much fear 
of this happening in the State of Michigan, but we 
often wished we could crawl under the low green 
leaves of the vine to escape for a time the rays of 
the sun. The farm extended to the shores of the 
lake, and when our day's work was at an end, we 
hastened there, and plunged into the cold and un- 
salted water which never grew warm, and could 
be swallowed with impunity. After which we would 
return, cook supper in the open air, and wrapping 
ourselves in blankets lie all night under the thick 
foliage of a tree. The berries were sent every night 
to Chicago for the morrow's market; but, there be- 
ing no market on Sunday our day of rest was Satur- 
day, and we picked on Sunday for Monday's market. 
Early every Saturday morning Australian Red would 
go to town in the farmer's buggy, and return to us 
later in the day with papers, tobacco, matches, and 

[79] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

such provisions as we needed ; for eggs, butter, milk, 
potatoes and fruit could be had of the farmer, the 
latter delicacy being free for the trouble of picking. 
Red seemed to me to be a man above the average 
intelligence, and, as far as my knowledge went, 
seldom made an error in grammar or the pronun- 
ciation of words. But that he should think words 
required a different pronunciation in reading from 
what they did in speaking, was a great shock to me, 
and made some of his most illiterate hearers look 
from one to another with stupefaction. Now, I was 
always greatly interested in fights and glove con- 
tests, and Red, claiming to have personal acquaint- 
ance with the best of Australia, and himself claiming 
to be an amateur middle weight, whose prowess many 
a professional had envied, often entertained me with 
little anecdotes of them, which had escaped the no- 
tice of sporting papers. So, on the first Saturday 
of our picking, Red returned from town with a paper 
which gave a full and graphic account, round by 
round, of a contest for the light weight champion- 
ship of the world, the principals hailing respectively 
from Australia and America. Red's sympathies, of 
course, were with the former, who, to his elation, 
had defeated his opponent. Being a very modest 
man, Australian Red had always quietly perused his 
paper, making few comments, so as to avoid all argu- 
ment; but on this occasion, he opened his paper and 
began to read with a boldness that astonished me. 

[80] 



Berry Picking 

But what surprised me most was the way in which 
he made use of an expletive syllable, which sounded 
so quaint as to make laughter irresistible. For in- 
stance, this passage occurred in describing the fifth 
round: "After he was knocked down, he picked 
himself up painfully, and the blood flowed from his 
nostrils in copious streams." I could not help 
laughing out at his strange delivery, and Red, think- 
ing my sympathies were with the bruiser from the 
Antipodes, chuckled with a real, but more quiet de- 
light. We had enough food for conversation that 
day, in commenting on this contest. I like to see 
a good scientific bout by men who know the use of 
their hands, but would rather walk twenty miles 
than see animals in strife. Although of a quiet dis- 
position, my fondness for animals is likely at any 
time to lead me into danger. After reading cases 
of vivisection I have often had dreams of boldly 
entering such places, routing the doctors with a bar 
of iron, cutting the cords and freeing the animals, 
despite of any hurt I might receive from bites and 
scratches. Perhaps I should cut a ridiculous figure, 
walking through the crowded streets with a poor 
meek creature under each arm, but that would not 
bother me much in the performance of a humane 
action. 

After a good month's work at the strawberries, 
we had three weeks at picking raspberries, followed 
by four weeks blackberry picking. There was good 

[81] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

money to be made at the strawberries, but much less 
at the raspberries. The blackberry picking was as 
lucrative as the strawberry, and, being cultivated on 
the low bushes that seldom required us to stoop, was 
not such a tedious occupation as the latter, whose 
vines were often half buried in the soil. After pay- 
ing all expenses, I had, at the end of the season, 
cleared over a hundred dollars. 

It was now the last of the picking, and the farmer 
paid us off. He was a German, and nearly all the 
farmers in that part of the country were the same, 
or of that descent, and they used the German lan- 
guage at every opportunity, and never used English 
except when it was necessary to do so. "You vos 
come again, next summer," said he to Australian 
Red and myself as we were leaving — "for I know 
you two plenty." This remark made me blush, for 
it seemed as much as to say that his knowledge of 
us was more than he desired — but we understood 
his meaning. He offered to drive us to St. Joseph, 
but we preferred to walk, as we had all day and half 
the night to wait before the boat started from that 
place to Chicago. 

"Now," I said to Australian Red, as we jogged 
along, "I am going to hoard the bulk of my dollars, 
and shall just keep two or three handy for food and 
incidental expenses, for I am now about to beat my 
way from Chicago to New York. From the latter 
place I shall pay my passage to Liverpool, clothe my- 

[82] 



Berry Picking 

self better, and then take train for South Wales, 
and still have a pound or two left when I arrive 
home." "Come and have a drink," said Red, "and 
I will then inform you how any man without former 
experience on sea or ship, neither being a sailor, fire- 
man or cook, can not only work his passage to Eng- 
land, but be paid for doing so." 

We had had no intoxicating liquor for several 
months, and, though we had passed one or two of 
these places on our way to St. Joseph, on which he 
had gazed in a rather too friendly manner, his cour- 
age, up to this moment, had not been equal to an 
invitation. "Well," I said, pleased with the pros- 
pect of not only saving my passage money, but also 
of earning my train fare in England — "it will cer- 
tainly be cold, taking this deck voyage across the 
lake in the early hours of morning, and a glass of 
whiskey will keep some warmth in us." Alas I the 
usual thing happened — we got full; and what with 
the dead effects of the drink, and a rough passage 
across, we arrived in Chicago feeling cold, stiff, and 
in many other ways uncomfortable. 

I have often heard salt water mariners sneer at 
these fresh water sailors, but, after crossing the At- 
lantic some eighteen times, and making several pas- 
sages across the lakes, my opinion is that these vast 
inland lakes are more dangerous to navigate, and 
far less safe than the open seas. 

Of course, we had to have more whisky, after the 

[83] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

voyage, and, having had to sleep, its effect was al- 
most instantaneous. Not altogether losing my 
senses, I suggested to Red that we should go to some 
hotel, have breakfast, and then go to bed for an 
hour or two, say till dinner time, which would re- 
fresh us. It was now eight o'clock in the morning, 
and Red had unfortunately got into conversation 
with a gentleman who knew something of Australia. 
"Yes," he said, gravely, after listening to my pro- 
posal — "you are young, and you certainly look drunk 
and sleepy, and had better follow your own advice. 
The hotel is next door but one to this, and you will 
find me here when you return." Not liking to take 
him by the shoulder, and to gently try to force him 
away from this stranger in whose conversation he 
evidently seemed to take a great delight, not to 
mention doing such an action before the landlord's 
face, I left him, made arrangements at the hotel for 
two, and then went to bed. Having had a good 
sleep, and a substantial meal, and feeling thoroughly 
refreshed, I now returned to Red, whom I found 
in the centre of half a dozen loafers, besides the 
gentleman to whom I have already referred. On 
my appearance, he staggered to his feet and came 
to meet me, and then, taking me on one side, began 
in this way: "You have just come in the njck of 
time, for the glasses, as you see, are empty. Pay 
for all drinks called for, and I will make it all right 
with you in the morning." "What is the matter*?" 

[84] 



Berry Picking 

I asked. "What have you done with over eighty 
dollars'?" Winking artfully, and with a smile 
meant to be cunning, he said — "I have hidden my 
money, as I usually do in these cases. Most likely 
it is in the lining of my coat; but, wherever it is, 
you may depend on it as being quite safe." If he 
had had the assistance of a score of the most in- 
veterate drunkards, I know he could not in this short 
time have squandered between eighty and ninety 
dollars. Red had earned ninety-five dollars and a 
half, and, up to the time of my leaving him, had 
spent but very little. I came to the conclusion that 
he had been robbed, and that this befell him in all 
his sprees. After calling for a round of drinks, I 
left the house, knowing that Red would soon fol- 
low, which he did, and at once. I persuaded him 
to bed, and the next morning saw the same peculiari- 
ties as before — his going into corners, up side streets, 
to feel the lining of his clothes. He was not sat- 
isfied at seeing no tear in the lining of his cap, but 
must hold it in his hand and feel every inch of it. 
"Somewhere on my person," he reiterated, "I have 
secreted three twenty dollar bills. I have a distinct 
recollection of doing so, but for the life of me I 
cannot remember what part." "You have been 
robbed," I answered, with a little disgust. Not will- 
ing to leave him in his present circumstances, and 
only too sorry that I had not done so when he was 
almost as well off as myself, I shared my dollars 

[85] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

with him, saying in an offended manner — "The 
sooner we squander this stuff the better it will please 
us." We spent it in one week in Chicago, and were 
again without a cent. "Again," I said with some 
exaggeration, "winter is here, and we are in the 
same position as at the end of last summer. What 
now*?" "We are without money," said Red, "but 
there is still nothing to prevent us from our first 
intention of visiting England. We will beat our 
way to Baltimore without delay. I am known in 
that port by the cattle foremen and owners, and we 
are almost sure of a ship as soon as we arrive." 
After all, I thought, eager for a new experience, one 
trip will not come amiss. 



[86] 



CHAPTER X 

THE cattleman's OFFICE 

WE found the Baltimore and Ohio Rail- 
road easy to beat, and were at the end 
of our journey in a very few days. 
When we entered the cattleman's office, from which 
place owners and foremen were supplied with men, 
it was evident to me that Red was well known in 
this place, hearing him make enquiries of Washing- 
ton Shorty, New York Fatty, Philadelphia Slim, and 
others. At this place I made the acquaintance of 
Oklahoma Sam, an extremely quiet man, very much 
respected in that he had a cold blooded fashion of 
whittling wood and paring his nails with a steel 
blade nearly a foot long. Another queer character 
was Baldy, of whom Australian Red related this 
anecdote. When stranded in Liverpool and hungry, 
he once took up a position in front of a confection- 
er's shop, and, being an extremely lazy man, placed 
his shoulder against the lamp-post, and settled him- 
self for a long reverie. He might have been there 
an hour or more, when the baker came out and com- 
plained of Baldy's person, being ragged and dirty, 
as the reason why people hurried past his establish- 
ment; telling Baldy straight that his presence was 

[87] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

detrimental to the trade of any shop that catered 
to the inner man. Baldy, too lazy to speak, much 
less show any signs of anger, took a firmer bearing 
on the post and settled to a more prolonged reverie. 
Two or three hours elapsed when the baker, who 
had come several times to stare at him through the 
window, rushed out and shouted with much irrita- 
tion — "For Heaven's sake, go: here, take this six- 
pence, and let me see the last of you." Baldy, who 
had not wished the baker good morning, wished him 
good afternoon, and strolled quietly away, with the 
price of a good meal in his hand. Nobody, who 
thoroughly understood Baldy's disposition, would 
wonder at this; for this success, after all, was only 
the result of laziness, but most of his companions 
gave him credit for using unique strategy in obtain- 
ing money. 

Shelter only was supplied at this office, and that 
of the barest kind, being no other than the hard 
floor, and blanketless. Owing to this the men, who, 
after making a trip often had to wait sometimes two 
or three weeks for another chance, were all good 
beggars. Some of them had begged Baltimore off 
and on for ten years, and knew every good house in 
the city. One would say — "I shall go to the dress- 
maker for my breakfast" ; another intended to go to 
the dairy, the fat woman, or the dentist; the latter 
being always good for money in the shape of a ten 
cent piece. 

[88] 



The Cattleman's Office 

We had been at this office three days, when the 
shipper sent Australian Red and myself, with four 
others, to rope cattle at the yards. Seven hundred 
and fifty head of cattle had to be shipped that night, 
and the ropes had to be placed on their necks or 
horns, with which they had to be fastened to their 
places aboard ship. After Red had taken a rope, 
and given me a practical illustration of what was 
to be done, the cattle began to arrive. They were 
very wild, having just come from the plains of the 
west. There was a long narrow shoot in the yards, 
with one end blocked, and when a number of cattle 
had been driven into this, and had wedged them- 
selves too close and fast to be capable of any wild 
movement, it was our business to slip a noose around 
their horns, or necks, draw this rope as tight as possi- 
ble, and fasten it with a knot, so as to prevent it 
from slipping. When this was accomplished, the 
end of the shoot was opened, and they were rushed 
out with their ropes dangling, and a fresh batch were 
then driven in and served likewise. After which 
they were put in cars and sent to the ship. Now 
the foreman, knowing Red, asked him if he would 
like to go with him, to which Red answered yes, at 
the same time putting in a good word for me, which 
at once met with the foreman's approval. We were 
not therefore surprised, on our return, when the ship- 
per called us into his private office to sign articles — 
Red to receive two pounds for the trip, and myself 

[89] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

thirty shillings, an amount seldom paid to a raw 
hand, except on the recommendation of owner or 
foreman. 

I shall never forget the first night's experience, 
when the cattle were brought to the ship in a train 
of cars. A large sloping gangway was erected to, 
span the distance between ship and shore, and up 
this incline the poor beasts were unmercifully prod- 
ded with long poles, sharpened at the end, and used 
by the shore cattlemen. The terror-stricken ani- 
mals were so new to the conditions, that they had 
no notion of what was expected of them, and al- 
most overleaped one another in their anxiety to get 
away. What with the shout of savage triumph, 
the curse of disappointment, and the slipping and 
falling of the over-goaded steers, I was strongly 
tempted to escape the scene. As the cattle were be- 
ing driven aboard, we cattlemen, who had signed 
for their future charge, caught their ropes, which 
we were required to fasten to a strong stanchion 
board. Sometimes one would run up behind, and 
prevent himself from turning. On one of these 
occasions, I crossed the backs of others, that had 
been firmly secured, so as to force this animal to a 
proper position. The animal, whose back I was 
using for this purpose, began to heave and toss, and 
at last succeeding in throwing me across the back 
of the other, this one tossing and rearing until I was 
in danger of my life, only the pressure of the other 

[90] 



The Cattleman's Office 

beasts preventing him from crushing my limbs. 
Taking possession of his rope, I held it to a cattle- 
man, who was standing waiting and ready in the 
alley, and he quickly fastened this refractory animal 
to the crossboards. Now the foreman had been 
watching this, and coming to the conclusion that 
I was a good man with cattle, said he would like 
me to be the night watchman. This undoubtedly 
does require a good man, as I soon discovered, on 
the first night out. There were two lots of cattle 
aboard, and for these two foremen, two lots of 
cattlemen, and two watchmen. As all hands are 
available in the day, any difficulty with the cattle 
can soon be attended to; if necessary, all hands 
taking part. But when there is any trouble at 
night, one watchman only has the assistance of the 
other, who, of course, expects the same aid from 
him, in cases of emergency. Now if a number of 
cattle have broken loose, and worked themselves 
into intricate positions, the watchman is supposed 
to awake the foreman and his men to assist him, 
but one would rather struggle all night with his 
difficulties than to take these men at their word, 
knowing their peevishness and dislike for a man 
who has disturbed them from a sound sleep. A 
watchman is therefore told to call up all hands, if 
he cannot cope with the cattle under his charge, 
but he is never expected to do so. 

What soon breaks the spirit of these wild animals 

[91] 



i! 

The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

is the continual motion of the vessel. There is 
always plenty of trouble at first, when they slip for- 
ward and backward, but in a few days they get 
their sea-legs, and sway their bodies easily to the 
ship's motion. The wild terror leaves their eyes, 
and, when they can no more smell their native land, 
they cease bellowing, and settle calmly down. This 
restlessness breaks out afresh when nearing shore 
on the other side, and again they bellow loud and 
often, long before the mariner on the look-out has 
sighted land. 

We also had on this trip two thousand head of 
sheep, quartered on the hurricane deck. When we 
were six days out there came a heavy storm, and 
the starboard side was made clean, as far as pens 
and sheep were concerned, one wave bearing them 
all away. This happened at night, and on the fol- 
lowing morning the sheep men were elated at having 
less work to do during the remainder of the voyage. 
The cattle, being protected on the main deck, and 
between decks, and their breath filling the air with 
warmth, make the cattleman's lot far more comfort- 
able than that of the sheep-men. The condition 
of the cattle can be seen without difficulty, but ten 
or fifteen sheep lying or standing in the front of a 
crowded pen, may be concealing the dead or dying 
that are lying in the background. For this reason 
it is every morning necessary to crawl through the 
pens, far back, in quest of the sick and the dead, 

[92] 



The Cattleman's Office 

and it is nothing unusual to find half a dozen dead 
ones. The voyage would not be considered bad if 
thirty sheep only died out of two thousand. 

What a strange assortment of men were these 
cattlemen and sheepmen. One man, called Blacky, 
a bully without being a coward, fell in love with a 
small white cat, which we had found in the fore- 
castle. His ruffianism at once disappeared, and 
every time he was at liberty, instead of looking for 
trouble with his fellow-men, he could be seen peace- 
fully nursing this cat, at the same time addressing 
it endearingly as "Little White Dolly," and such 
simple language as a child might use. 

It was our duty to keep the cattle standing, and 
not to allow them to rest too long on their knees; 
and not let them, on any acount, stretch full length 
in the pens. One reason for this was that a kneeling 
steer would be overstepped by his nearest neighbour, 
and if the latter happened to rise, their ropes, which 
were so fastened as to give them very little freedom, 
would be tightened and crossed, bringing their heads 
together in such close proximity, that they would 
make frantic efforts to escape each other's presence. 
And another reason for not allowing them to lie 
down for any length of time was that their joints 
would become so stiff as to make them almost in- 
capable of rising, though goaded by the most heart- 
less cruelty. I used the most humane methods to 
attain this end, and sought to inspire terror in them 

[93] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

by the use of the most ferocious war-cry, which often 
succeeded. If that failed to raise them, I struck 
them with a flat stick on the haunches, which they 
could scarcely feel, at the same time not forgetting 
to use my voice. Not succeeding in this, I resorted 
to the old remedy, which rarely fails, standing at 
their backs and twisting their tails. A bullock can 
kick in any direction. There is terrible power in 
his side kick, also his front kick, throwing his hind 
leg forward with a speed that is remarkable for such 
an unwieldy animal. But his back kick, when you 
stand back to back with him, has not the least power 
to cause hurt. The other watchman and myself 
had about an equal number of cattle under our 
charge, and when I was in difBculty he kindly came 
to my assistance, and I did likewise for him, although 
he seldom seemed to need other help than his own. 
We made our rounds about every half hour. Some- 
times I found a steer in the alley; by some means 
or other he had cleared the head board and, still 
being a prisoner, stood fastened outside the pen in- 
stead of inside. Another time we would find one 
standing with his tail to the head-board, instead of 
his head, owing to the rope getting loose, or being 
broken; after which he had turned himself around 
to see if there was any way of escape behind him. 
It required great care, in cases of this kind, to place 
them again in their original positions. 

Up till the fourth night we had experienced no 

[94] 



The Cattleman's Office 

bad weather, and the cattle had been quiet and 
requiring little care. On this particular night my 
attention had been drawn several times to a big 
black steer, which, time after time, had persisted in 
lying down. At last, in pity for the poor beast, I let 
him rest, thinking to get him into a standing position 
at the last moment, when I went off duty, after 
calling the foreman and his men. But when that 
last moment came I failed in all my efforts to raise 
this animal, whose joints, I suppose, had become 
stiff after a prolonged rest. I was not therefore 
greatly surprised when the foreman came, after I 
had gone off duty, to the forecastle, with the com- 
plaint of having found a number of cattle lying 
down, and one, he said, in particular, which must 
have been lying down half of the night. "When 
I left the cattle," I said, "nothing seemed to be 
wrong." "Come up and see this one," he answered. 
I followed him on deck, and there I saw several 
cattlemen standing in front of a pen, in which I 
recognised the big black steer. He was now lying 
full length in the pen, the others having had to 
be removed for his convenience. "See this," said 
the foreman, "this creature should be standing. 
Twist his tail," he continued, to a cattleman, who 
at once obeyed. During this operation another 
cattleman fiercely prodded the poor creature's side 
with a pitchfork, which must have gone an inch 
into the body. At the same time another beat the 

[95] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

animal about the head with a wooden stake, dan- 
gerously near the eyes. The animal groaned, and 
its great body heaved, but it made no attempt to 
move its legs. "Wait," said the foreman then, "we 
will see what this will do." He then took out of 
his mouth a large chew of tobacco, and deliberately 
placed it on one of the animal's eyes. My heart 
sickened within me, on seeing this, and I knew that 
I would have to be less gentle with these poor 
creatures to save them the worst of cruelty. In a 
second or two the poor beast, maddened by pain, 
made frantic efforts to rise, tried again and again, 
and after seeing its great sides panting, and hearing 
a number of pitiful groans, it succeeded in the at- 
tempt. 

These cattlemen are, as a rule, great thieves, and 
well the sailors and firemen know it, and especially 
the steward and cook. One evening, when the men 
had finished their day's work, and I was preparing 
to go on duty for the night, I heard Blacky propose 
a night's raid on the captain's chickens, which were 
kept in a small coop under the bridge, and rather 
difficult to rob, considering the bridge was always 
occupied by the captain or one of his first officers. 
But, next morning, on coming to the forecastle I 
was not greatly surprised to smell a peculiar and a 
not unpleasant odour, coming from that place. 
Blacky and another had made their raid during the 
previous night, leisurely killing the chickens on the 

[96] 



The Cattleman's Office 

spot, which was certainly the best plan. When I 
descended the forecastle steps, I saw that the stove 
was red hot, on which was a large tin can full of 
potatoes, onions and chicken. I am not ashamed 
to say that I did not scruple to partake of this rogue's 
mess, knowing from experience how this company ran 
their boats, allowing their stewards such miserly 
small amounts for provisions, that the common sail- 
ors and firemen did not get sufficient food to eat, 
bad as its quality was. 

When we arrived at Liverpool, we were not long 
clearing our decks of cattle. After one is forced 
to lead, which is often difficult to do, they all follow, 
and it is the same with the sheep. It is more often 
necessary to control their mad rush than to goad 
them on. We received payment aboard — Red two 
pounds, myself thirty shillings, one other a pound, 
and the rest ten shillings each, which was to board 
and lodge us ashore for six days, when we would 
have passenger tickets back to the port from which 
we had sailed. If the ship, from any cause, was 
delayed over this number of days, we were to re- 
ceive an extra half a crown for every day over. Red, 
having been in Liverpool several times previously, 
led the way to a cheap house, at which place I per- 
suaded them to pay down six nights' lodging, so as 
to make sure of some shelter, not forgetting to cau- 
tion them against drink, as they would need every 
penny of the remainder for food, which would be 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

more difficult to obtain in this country than their 
own. 

These cattlemen are recognised as the scum of 
America, a wild, lawless class of people, on whom 
the scum of Europe unscrupulously impose. They 
are an idle lot, but, coming from a land of plenty, 
they never allow themselves to feel the pangs of 
hunger until they land on the shores of England, 
when their courage for begging is cooled by the 
sight of a greater poverty. Having kind hearts, 
they are soon rendered penniless by the importuni- 
ties of beggars. Men waylay them in the public 
streets for tobacco, and they are marked men in the 
public houses — marked by their own voices. First 
one enters and makes a successful appeal, who quickly 
informs another, and others as quickly follow. 
These wild, but kind-hearted men, grown exceed- 
ingly proud by a comparison of the comfortable 
homes of America with these scenes of extreme pov- 
erty in Liverpool and other large sea-ports, give and 
give of their few shillings, until they are them- 
selves reduced to the utmost want. And so it was 
on this occasion. The next day after landing, I 
made my way to the public library, for I had not 
enjoyed books for a considerable time. When I re- 
turned from this place, Australian Red at once ap- 
proached me to borrow money, with his old hint of 
having some concealed. On questioning the others, 
six in number, I found that these men had not the 

[98] 



The Cattleman's Office 

price of a loaf of bread among them. As for myself, 
I had not been drinking, and had only spent seven 
shillings, and a part of that had been given away 
in charity. For even in the coffee-house ragged lads 
set their hungry eyes on one's meal, and sidle up 
with the plaintive remark that they will be thank- 
ful for anything that is left. In such cases, who 
could help but attend to them at once, before at- 
tempting to enjoy his own meal"? As far as my 
money went I maintained Red and the others, but 
the day previous to sailing, there was not one penny 
left. We were to sail the following night, but 
would not be supplied with food until breakfast 
time the next morning. When that hour arrived 
we were all weak from hunger, not having had food 
for over forty hours. When the food did arrive in 
the forecastle, these hungry men strove for it like 
wild beasts, without any system of equal shares. 

What a monotonous life we now had for thirteen 
days. No work; nothing to do but to eat and sleep. 
And how I had intended to enjoy this part of the 
trip I The few hours I had spent in the library, 
had brought back my old passion for reading, and, 
had it not been for the distress of others, I had 
now been the happy possessor of some good books. 
This was not to be; for I was to lie in my bunk 
with but one consolation — that I had sufficient to- 
bacco under seal with the steward to last me until 
the end of the voyage. This new experience was 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

a disappointment, and it was my firm resolve, on 
returning to Baltimore, to seek some more remuner- 
ative employment, to save, and then to work my 
passage back to England in this same way, and go 
home with my earnings. 

We had a rough passage back, the ship being 
light, with little more than ballast. One night the 
vessel made a fearful roll, and the lights went dark, 
and we thought every moment that she would turn 
over. A coal bunker was smashed by the waves, 
and large pieces of coal bounded across the deck 
with a force that would have broken every bone in 
a man's body. Pieces of heavy wood, that would 
have cut off a man's feet as clean as a knife, slid 
across the deck from side to side. We thought the 
end had come, especially when we saw an old sailor 
rush on deck in his bare feet, his shirt being his 
only apparel. Sleep was out of the question for 
some hours, for we were forced to cling to our bunks 
with all our strength, to save ourselves from being 
thrown out, when we would be rolled here and there, 
and soon battered into an unconscious state. 

We reached Baltimore on the thirteenth day, and 
at once made our way to the cattlemen's office, in- 
tending on the morrow to make better arrangements 
for the future. 



[loo] 



CHAPTER XI 

A STRANGE CATTLEMAN 

IT was now the beginning of October, and the 
mornings and the evenings were getting colder. 
Although Baltimore is a southern town, and 
was therefore free from the severe cold of towns 
further north, it was not so far south as to make 
plenty of clothes dispensable. We two, Australian 
Red and myself, tramped this city day after day for 
work, but without success. There were only two 
courses left open to us: to make three or four more 
trips on cattle boats, until the coming of spring, 
when there would probably be work in abundance, 
or to go oyster dredging down the Chesapeake Bay, 
a winter employment that was open to any able- 
bodied man in Baltimor-e, experience not being nec- 
essary. Red soon placed the latter beyond consid- 
eration by relating his own hard experience of the 
same. First of all the work was very hard, and 
of a most dangerous kind; the food was of the 
worst; and, worse than all, the pay was of the 
smallest. A man would often cut his hands with 
the shells, which would poison and swell, and render 
him helpless for some time to come. "Again," 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

said Red, "a man is not sure of his money, small 
as it is. A few years ago," he continued, "it was 
a common occurrence for a boat to return and have 
to report the loss of a man. These dredgers were 
never lost on the outward trip, but when homeward 
bound, and the most hazardous part of their work 
was done. The captain, on coming to shore, would 
report a man lost, drowned, and his body unre- 
covered. This drowned man, being an unknown, 
no relative came forward to claim wages from the 
captain. How the man met his death was no secret 
among the dredgers, and they had to keep a wary 
eye on their own lives; for a captain would often 
move the tiller so suddenly as to knock a man 
overboard, accidentally, of course. A board of en- 
quiry looked into these things, and a captain was 
tried for murder, and escaped with a sentence of 
seven years' imprisonment. There were not so many 
accidents after this, but they have not altogether 
ceased." After hearing this account, I was not very 
eager for more practical knowledge of this profession, 
called dredging, so I agreed with Red to make three 
or four more trips as cattlemen, until the spring 
of the year made other work easy to be obtained. 

We returned to the office, where between thirty 
and forty men were waiting an opportunity to ship. 
As I have said before, some of these men were 
notorious beggars, and the kind-hearted people of 
Baltimore never seemed to tire of giving them char- 

[102] 



A Strange Cattleman 

ity. One man, called Wee Scotty, who had been 
a cattleman for a number of years, begged the town 
so much in some of the rather long intervals when 
he was waiting a ship, that he could take a stranger 
with him three times a day for a month, to be fed 
by the different good people that were known to 
him. He could take up a position on a street cor- 
ner, and say — "Go to that house for breakfast; come 
back to this house for dinner, and yonder house 
with the red gate will provide you a good supper." 
In this way he kept me going for two weeks when, 
at last, I was asked to sign articles to go with 
cattle to Glasgow. 

Some days before this, a man came to the office, 
whose peculiar behaviour often drew my attention 
to him. He asked to be allowed to work his passage 
to England, and the skipper promised him the first 
opportunity, and a sum of ten shillings on landing 
there. This was the reason why some of us had to 
wait so long, because, having made trips before, 
more or less, we required payment for our experi- 
ence. The man referred to above, had a white 
clean complexion, and his face seemed never to have 
had use for a razor. Although small of body, and 
not seeming capable of much manual labour, his 
vitality of spirits seemed overflowing every minute 
of the day. He swaggered more than any man 
present, and was continually smoking cigarettes — 
which he deftly rolled with his own delicate fingers. 

[103] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

In the intervals between smoking he chewed, squirt- 
ing the juice in defiance of all laws of cleanliness. 
It was not unusual for him to sing a song, and his 
voice was of surprising sweetness ; not of great power, 
but the softest voice I have ever heard from a man, 
although his aim seemed to make it appear rough 
and loud, as though ashamed of its sweetness. It 
often occurred to me that this man was playing a 
part, and that all this cigarette smoking, chewing 
tobacco and swaggering, was a mere sham; an af- 
fectation for a purpose. I could not, after much 
watching, comprehend. He was free of speech, was 
always ridiculing others, and swore like a trooper, 
yet no man seemed inclined to take advantage of 
him. Blackey took him under his protection, laugh- 
ing and inciting him to mischief. He was certainly 
not backward in insulting and threatening Blackey, 
which made the latter laugh until the tears came 
into his eyes. The men were spellbound at his vol- 
ubility. He shook that red rag of his, and a con- 
tinuous flow of speech ensued, and the surrounding 
creatures were mute, but not at all infuriated. His 
audacity may have slightly irritated one or two, but 
no man had the least idea of inflicting on him cor- 
poral punishment. I and Red were called to the 
office to sign articles for Glasgow, and, when doing 
so, Blackey and this strange new companion of his 
were signing for England, the two ships leaving for 
their destination on the same tide. We were sorry to 

[104] 



A Strange Cattleman 

lose this man's company, knowing that his tongue 
would have gone far to amuse our leisure hours 
aboard. 

We had a very pleasant voyage, and this line of 
boats gave us very little cause to complain, either 
of sleeping accommodation or diet, the officers and 
ship's crew also being sociable in their dealings with 
us. The same thing happened at the end of this 
voyage, and we would have suffered the same pri- 
vation — had it not been for an accident. On the 
fourth morning ashore there was not a penny among 
us, and the boat would not sail for another two 
days. Australian Red was rummaging his pockets 
and piling before him a large assortment of miscel- 
laneous articles. "I wouldn't care much," said he, 
"if I had the paltry price I paid for this," at the 
same time throwing on the table a thick, heavy, white 
chain. Picking this up, for an indifferent exami- 
nation, I became interested, and enquired as to how 
it came into his possession. It seemed that a poor 
fellow had offered to sell Red the chain for a penny. 
Red, seeing the man's condition of extreme want, 
had given him sixpence, at the same time refusing 
to accept the chain. The poor fellow had then per- 
sisted that Red should accept it as a gift. Red, 
being now filled with his own troubles, wished that 
he could dispose of the chain to the same advantage. 
The chain was, without doubt, silver, being stamped 
on every link. "What !" cried Red, suddenly roused, 

[105] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

while the cattlemen in their deep interest moved 
forward, making a circle several feet smaller — 
"What I" he cried, "silver did you say*? Let me 
see it I" He snatched the chain and, without look- 
ing at it, or putting it in his pocket, rushed out of 
the room without another word. In five minutes 
he returned, and throwing towards me eight shillings, 
the value of the chain in pawn, said: "None of 
this for drink; keep a tight hand on it for our food 
supply until the boat sails." He knew his own 
weakness. On first coming to shore I had taken the 
precaution to buy several books, to make sure of 
them, indifferent whether we suffered hunger or no. 
For this reason I thoroughly enjoyed the voyage back, 
and we arrived safely at Baltimore, having been 
away a little over five weeks. 

The first man we met, on entering the cattlemen's 
office, was Blackey, who, having made a shorter 
trip, had returned some days previous. "What be- 
came of your strange friend, Blackey?" I asked. 
"Did he remain in England, or return to America*?" 
"Why, haven't you heard about it all?" asked 
Blackey; "the English papers were full of the case." 
"We have heard nothing," I said, thinking the poor 
fellow had either been kicked to death by one of the 
wild steers, or that he had either leaped at the waves 
in a mad fit of suicide, or that the waves had leaped 
at him and taken him off. "He worked side by 
side with me for eleven days," said Blackey, "and 

[106] 



A Strange Cattleman 

by his singing, laughing and talking, he made a play 
of labour. Down in the forecastle at night he sang 
songs and, in spite of our limited space, and the 
rolling of the ship, he gave many a dance, and 
ended by falling into his low bunk exhausted, and 
laughing still. In all my experience this was the 
first time that I was not eager to sight land, and 
fill myself with English ale. On the eleventh day 
out, we were hoisting bales of hay for the cattle, 
and he was assisting me in the hold of the vessel. 
I know not whether we failed to fasten properly the 
bales, or whether the cattlemen on deck blundered 
when receiving them, but all at once I heard a shout 
of — 'Look out, below I' and down came a heavy bale, 
striking my companion on the shoulder. He spun 
around once or twice, and then fell unconscious into 
my arms. The ship's doctor was at once called, and 
the poor fellow was taken aft. Several times a day 
I made enquiries about him, and heard that he was 
out of danger, but needed rest. I never saw him 
again. When we landed in England he was not to 
be seen, and I thought, perhaps, that he was too ill 
to be removed without the assistance of a vehicle. 
Next day I happened to pick up a paper, in which 
was a full and lengthy account of how a woman 
had worked her way as a cattleman from the port 
of Baltimore, making mention of the ship's name. 
My companion was that woman, and I never had 
the least suspicion," continued Blackey, "although, 

[107] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

I will say, that I always thought him a queer man." 
I had scarcely been in the office a week, when I 
was offered a boat for London. Only one two-pound 
man was required, all the others, with the exception 
of one, who was to receive fifteen shillings, were ten- 
shilling men. Red had no chance on this boat, and 
I was not sorry, knowing how his extravagant hab- 
its would spoil the trip's enjoyment. This was a 
voyage of some delight, both aboard and ashore. 
Having been in London before, I knew what en- 
joyment could be had with but little expense — of 
museums, parks, gardens, picture galleries, etc. I 
made friends with a decent fellow, who had been a 
schoolmaster, and, persuading him out of Deptford, 
we procured lodgings in Southwark, and from that 
place we paid our visits to the different scenes. We 
saw none of the other cattlemen until the hour of sail- 
ing. Many of the poor fellows had lost their money 
on the first night ashore, and now had strange ex- 
periences to relate of workhouses, shelters, soup- 
kitchens, and unsuccessful begging. When we ar- 
rived at Baltimore it wanted one week to Christmas 
Day, and there was not much chance to ship again 
for two or three weeks, owing to the number of 
men waiting. 

As I have said before, the people of Baltimore 
are extremely kind-hearted, and no man need starve 
if he has the courage to express his wants. The 
women seem to be as beautiful as they are good, 

[108] 



A Strange Cattleman 

for I have never seen finer women than those of 
Baltimore, and a man would not be makino- the 
worst of life if he idled all day in a principal s'treet, 
reading the face of beauty, and studying the grace 
of forms that pass him by. But it is of their kind- 
ness and generosity that I would now speak. For 
Christmas Eve had come, and Australian Red, ac- 
companied by Blackey, had taken me on one side, 
the former beginning in this way: "Will you join 
this night's expedition? What we want you to do 
IS to carry a small bag, no more, and all the begging 
will be done by us." I had visions of the police 
stopping me and enquiring the contents of such a 
strange burden, but being an unsuccessful beggar, 
and feeling too independent to have others perforrn 
this office for me, without making some little effort 
to deserve their maintenance, I agreed to their pro- 
posal, and that evening at six p. m., we sallied forth 
together. They both started on a long street. Red 
taking one side and Blackey the other, whilst I 
waited the result some yards in advance— a safe dis- 
tance away. They could scarcely have been refused 
m one house, for in less than ten minutes they were 
both at my side, dropping paper parcels into the 
empty bag, the mouth of which I held open. All 
at once Blackey disappeared, having been called in 
to supper. The same thing happened to Red, two 
or three minutes after. When they approached me 
again with other parcels, they both agreed to accept 

[109] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

no more invitations to supper, but that they would 
excuse themselves as having families at home. They 
continued this for half an hour, hardly more, when 
the bag was full to the mouth. "Now," said 
Blackey, "take this to the office, and we will remain 
to fill our pockets, after which we will follow as soon 
as possible. Or do you prefer to wait for us*?" I 
preferred to go, and, avoiding the main streets and 
lighted places, succeeded in getting back without 
rousing the curiosity of the police. They soon fol- 
lowed, with another supply stored in their capacious 
pockets. What delighted them most — ^but of which 
I took very little account, knowing to what use it 
would be put — was that they had received several 
small amounts in money, the total being one dollar 
and seventy-five cents. I shall never forget this 
begging expedition. When the different parcels 
were unrolled, we beheld everything that the most 
fastidious taste could desire, for not one parcel, I 
believe, consisted of simple bread and butter, much 
less the former by its own common self. There 
were fried oysters, turkey, chicken, beef, mutton, ham 
and sausages; Irish potatoes, sweet potatoes and 
yams; brown bread, white bread; pancakes, tarts, 
pie and cake of every description; bananas, apples, 
grapes and oranges; winding up with a quantity of 
mixed nuts and a bag of sweets. Such were the 
contents of over sixty parcels, got with such ease. 
Blackey had been refused at three doors; and Red 

[no] 



A Strange Cattleman 

had failed at five, but had been requested to call 
back at two of them, and had not troubled to do so, 
not having properly located the houses. 



[Ill] 



CHAPTER XII 

THIEVES 

COCKNEY MORE was a cattleman, hailing 
from the port of Baltimore. He was a born 
thief and, strange to say, nearly blind; but 
without doubt, he was a feeler of the first magnitude. 
If he borrowed a needle, and the said article was 
honestly returned, it behoved the lender, knowing 
the borrower's thievish propensities, to carefully ex- 
amine it to see that the eye had not been abstracted ; 
for, as Donovan remarked — "Cockney More could 
steal the milk out of one's tea." 

When I have looked at Cockney's long thin fingers, 
I have often wondered whether he had power to 
disjoint them at will, letting them down the legs 
of his trousers to rummage the locality, while he 
stood innocently talking to us with his hands in his 
pockets. That honour which is supposed to exist 
among thieves, was not known to Cockney More, 
for he would rob his best friend, and do it in such a 
way that no man could take umbrage. For instance, 
six of us had landed in Liverpool, having been paid 
off that morning. Cockney, knowing the ins and 
outs of that city, and its numerous pitfalls for 
strangers, escorted us at once to a cheap lodging- 

[112] 



Thieves 

house, where we paid in advance for a week's bed, 
thus being assured of shelter until the ship was 
ready to return. The next morning we sat six dis- 
consolate men in the lodging-house kitchen, not one 
of us having the price of his breakfast. Cockney, 
being the last to rise, entered at last, and noting 
our despondent looks enquired as to the cause. On 
being told he went out and returned in a few mo- 
ments with tea, sugar, bread and sausages. In fact, 
he continued these kind deeds during our week ashore. 
The others, being mostly strangers, blessed him for 
a good fellow, but it occurred to me that he was 
simply returning us our own, for he spent three times 
more money during those few days than he had re- 
ceived for the trip. 

I remembered a mean little trick that he had 
performed on one of the cattlemen that very first 
morning ashore. True, we were all getting drunk 
fast, but I never thought Cockney would be daring 
enough to attempt such a deed in our first stage of 
intoxication. He had asked this cattleman for a 
chew of tobacco and the man had generously offered 
him the whole plug to help himself. Cockney took 
this plug and, biting off a piece, returned the bitten 
part to the owner, and himself pocketed the plug. 
I was speechless with astonishment at seeing this: 
and more so when the strange cattleman innocently 
received the bitten part, and put it in his pocket 
without having perceived anything wrong. 

[113] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

Cockney and myself were on the best of terms, and 
yet, some time previous to the above episode, he had 
served me a trick which ought to have severed our 
friendship for ever. I was at the shipping office and 
had that morning signed for a trip to London. 
"Have you sufficient tobacco, and a spoon, knife, fork 
and plated" enquired Cockney. "Yes," I replied, 
"and I have also a new pack of cards, so that we 
may enjoy our leisure hours aboard." Cockney was 
pleased to hear this, although he was not to accom- 
pany me on this trip. "Let me see them," said 
he. This I did and being, as I have said, nearly 
blind, he took them to the window for examination, 
but returned them almost immediately. Then came 
a shout for all men who had signed for the London 
trip, and, hastily wishing Cockney and others good- 
bye, I left the office. On the second day out we were 
all at leisure for an hour or more, and enquiries 
went around as to who had a pack of cards. My 
cards were at once produced and, taking partners, 
we were about to settle to a little enjoyment. Alas, 
when my cards were taken out of the new case, they 
were found to be a dirty, greasy old pack with sev- 
eral missing, and, of course, card playing was out 
of the question. I at once knew what had happened : 
Cockney had substituted these old ones for the new, 
what time he pretended to be interested at the win- 
dow. That little trick meant twelve days' misery 

[H4] 



Thieves 

for eight men, for we could not get another pack 
until we landed in London. 

On that trip, when I had the pleasure of Cockney's 
company, we had with us Donovan who, as a thief, 
certainly ran Cockney a good second. The truth 
of the matter is that all cattlemen are thieves, and 
the one who complains of going ashore without his 
razor, often has in his possession another's knife, 
comb or soap. On the second day out I missed my 
pocket-knife and, without loss of time boldly accused 
Cockney More to his face, telling him that however 
much I admired his dexterity in other people's pock- 
ets I had not the least suspicion that he would be 
guilty of such a trick on an old pal. *'No more 
have I," said he. "What kind of knife was it?" 
On being told, he advised me to say no more about 
it, and that he would endeavour to find it. He 
succeeded in doing so, and the next day Donovan 
was shouting indignantly — "Who has been to my 
bunk and stolen a knife*?" After this I lost my 
soap, but did not think it worth while mentioning 
such a petty loss. On approaching Cockney More 
for the loan of his, he — giving me strict injunctions 
to return it at once, and not leave it exposed to the 
eyes of thieves — lent me my own soap. 

This trip was a memorable one, and no doubt 
Cockney made the best haul of his life. We were 
together in Liverpool, Cockney, Donovan and my- 

[115] 




The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

self, and as usual drinking. A stranger, hearing 1| 
by our conversation that we hailed from America, 
invited us to drink; and in the course of conversa- 
tion expressed a regret that he was out of work, and 
had no means of visiting America. "Nothing is 
easier," said Cockney, "if you place yourself unre- 
servedly in our hands. We are to sail on Thurs- 
day, and I can stow you away, as I have success- 
fully done with others." "Many thanks," replied 
the other, and so it was agreed. 

On the following Thursday we went aboard, the 
Cockney carrying a large bag which contained the 
stowaway's clothes, etc. When the ship's officers 
entered our forecastle the stowaway was, of course, 
not present, but when they were searching other 
places, the stowaway was then sitting comfortably 
among us, these things being well managed by Cock- 
ney More. After this search they would pay us 
no more visits, and the stowaway was safe, and 
could go on deck at night for fresh air. The only 
danger now was to land him in America. This, the 
Cockney affirmed, was a danger of little account. 

Now, as I have said, this stowaway had a bag, 
and Cockney More and Donovan were great thieves. 
Therefore, it was not at all surprising to hear that 
the poor fellow was soon without a second shirt to 
his back. He had lent me a book, the value of 
which I did not think him capable of appreciating, 
and I had made up my mind that it should not be 

[116] 



Thieves 

returned until asked for. But when I heard him 
complain of losing so many things, through pity I 
became honest and returned it. But where was his 
watch and chain, his brushes, and where were his 
clothes, his tools, razor, strop, and many other use- 
ful articles'? All these things were in possession of 
Donovan, and Cockney knew it and appeared to be 
grieving over lost chances; for he was supposed to 
have that honour which is among thieves, and as 
Donovan had been too fast for him, he had no other 
option than to sit quiet under the circumstances. 

On the day before our arrival at Baltimore, I 
happened to enter the forecastle and found Donovan, 
his face pale, feverously rummaging Cockney More's 
bunk. "What do you think?" said he. "That 
blasted Cockney has robbed me of everything," 
And so he had. He had allowed Donovan to do all 
the dirty work, of abstracting the goods one by one, 
as the chance occurred; he had allowed him the 
pleasure of their care and possession for many days, 
and then he had robbed him. But the artful part 
of the business was this: he had not left Donovan 
any chance to recover the goods, for he had made 
friends with one of the sailors — the latter having 
a forecastle to themselves — and had prevailed on 
that person to take charge of a parcel for him until 
all the cattlemen landed; "for," said he, "these 
cattlemen are born thieves." Yes, he had done the 
business neatly, for the desperate and much ag- 

[117] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

grieved Donovan who intended on landing to re- 
cover the goods by force, saw Cockney More walk 
ashore as empty-handed as himself, and he was al- 
most shaken in his belief that the said Cockney was, 
after all, the thief triumphant. 



[118] 



CHAPTER XIII 

THE CANAL 

I NOW left Baltimore, travelling alone, making 
my way as fast as possible towards Chicago, 
where a canal was being built to facilitate 
commerce between that large inland city, and deep 
water, at which place I soon arrived. 

On the banks of that canal were assembled the 
riff-raff of America and the scum of Europe; men 
who wanted no steady employment, but to make 
easy and quick stakes — for the pay was good — so 
as to indulge in periodical sprees, or in rare instances, 
for the more laudable purpose of placing themselves 
in a better position to apply for more respectable 
employment. They came and went in gangs, for 
the work was so hard that there were few men that 
did not require a week's rest after a month's labour. 
So much for the rough but honest working element. 
But unfortunately these canal banks were infested 
by other gangs, who did not seek work, and yet 
were often to be seen loafing about the various 
camps. Then how did these men live"? For they 
could not successfully beg, seeing that work was to 
be had for the asking. Perhaps the explanation 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

is that seldom a day passed but what a dead body 
was dragged out of the water, and more than two- 
thirds of these bodies bore the marks of murder. 
The bodies were not those of men coming from the 
city in search of employment, but of such men as 
had been known to have quit work a few days pre- 
vious, having then had a month's or more pay on 
their persons, and who had been on the way to the 
city for enjoyment. Yes, these loafers were un- 
doubtedly the thugs and murderers, and if a man 
was inclined to hazard his life, all he had to do 
was to make it known that he on the following day 
was to draw his earnings, with the intention of 
walking the canal banks to one of the distant towns. 
It was hardly likely that he would reach his destina- 
tion, but would be taken out of the canal some days 
later — a murdered man. To defeat the purpose of 
these unscrupulous life-takers, the more timid work- 
men waited for one another until they were suffi- 
ciently strong in number to discharge themselves 
and travel without fear. But alas! there was 
many a man who prided himself on his own heart 
and muscles for protection and dared the journey 
alone. At the time of which I write there had been 
no houses built on those banks, therefore no women 
walked to and fro, and no children played there. 
No doubt such are to be seen there at the present 
day, innocent of the violence and the blood that was 
shed there in the past. 

[120] 



The Canal 

I had applied for work at one of these camps and 
being sickened of the same in a little more than 
three weeks demanded my earnings at the same 
time Cockney Tom and Pat Sheeny drew theirs, 
with the intention of accompanying them to Chicago. 
Being somewhat delayed in business, owing to the 
absence of the timekeeper, and being then com- 
pelled to remain for dinner, we soon saw the im- 
possibility of reaching the city before midnight. 
Therefore it was arranged between us that we should 
settle for the night at some place half way between 
the camp and the city, and rise early so as to enter 
the latter before noon on the following day. With 
this intention we started, after receiving dinner and 
pay, and after several hours' walk settled down. 

There would be six hours' darkness and it was 
proposed that I should keep awake for the first 
two hours' watch, after which Cockney Toni would 
relieve me, and Pat would then keep watch until 
daybreak. 

Now, in my two hours' watch I had on several 
occasions heard a stir in the adjoining bush, but 
not being able to see whether it was a man or a beast, 
I had not thought it necessary to alarm my com- 
panions. At last I considered my duty to be at an 
end, and, after rousing Cockney Tom, settled myself 
for sleep. Before I closed my eyes I noticed that 
the second watch was still lying recumbent, although 
he seemed to be wide awake; but I was too intent 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

on my own sleep to care whether he would be faithful 
to his trust or not. I don't think I could have been 
asleep more than fifteen minutes when I was startled 
by a loud shout and, springing to my feet was just 
in time to see Cockney Tom in pursuit of one who 
was then entering the bush. The Irishman was also 
up, and we both followed the chase. We soon 
reached our companion, finding him standing dazed 
and confused as to which way the quarry had gone. 
He explained to us that when on watch he was lying 
down with his eyes closed, but with his ears wide 
open, and all his mental faculties at work. Sud- 
denly, he heard a step near and opening his eyes 
saw a stranger standing within three feet of him. 
It was at that moment that he gave the alarm, 
but the stranger was too fleet to be overtaken. "No 
doubt," said Cockney, "there is a gang of them at 
no short distance from here and if we are wise, we 
will continue our journey at once. I have seen the 
man's face before, at the camp, and know I shall 
recognise him if we meet again." His advice of 
continuing our journey was hardly necessary, for 
sleep was now out of the question. 

In less than a week after the above incident we 
three, having squandered our earnings in Chicago, 
were back at the old camp seeking re-employment. 
There happened to be only one vacancy, which the 
Irishman persuaded Cockney to accept, whilst we 
two would travel on to the next camp, a distance of 

[122] 



The Canal 

two miles. We were about to do this when the boss 
ganger asked me if I would like a position in the 
boarding shanty as assistant cook. Knowing that 
an assistant cook meant no more than carrying water, 
peeling potatoes, washing dishes, keeping a good fire 
and opening cans of condensed meat and preserves 
— I felt quite confident in undertaking such a po- 
sition. So the Cockney and I started to work at 
once, but before doing so, arranged for the keep of 
Pat until a vacancy occurred, his meals to be en- 
tered to our account. The next morning his chance 
came and he was set to work. 

We had been working four days, and on the even- 
ing of that fourth day we three and a number of 
others were resting ourselves in a quiet place near 
the camp. Whilst seated there, smoking and talk- 
ing, there came along four strangers, who seated 
themselves some distance from us, but within ear- 
shot of our conversation. No one paid much heed 
to them, for it was not unusual to be visited by 
strangers in quest of work. But there was one man 
who could not keep his eyes from them, and that 
was Cockney Tom. "Yes," he said to me after sev- 
eral long puffs at his pipe, "that stranger, showing 
us his side face, is the very man who attempted 
to rob us." Saying this the Cockney took off his 
cap and laying it carefully on the ground with its 
inside uppermost, placed therein his dirty clay pipe, 
as gently as a woman putting a sleeping babe in its 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

cradle — and to the no small surprise of his com- 
panions began to address them in this oratorical fash- 
ion: "Gentlemen, some time ago a man attempted 
to rob me and two others, and ever since then I 
have been longing to meet him face to face. At 
last we meet, and I would like to know what is to 
be done with him." "Why, give him a good hiding, 
of course," cried several angry voices. On hearing 
this the Cockney at once turned towards the strangers 
— whom he had hitherto pretended not to notice — 
and in three bounds was standing over them. Plac- 
ing his hands on the shoulders of one he said in a calm 
voice, "This is my man." The man referred to rose 
deliberately to his feet, as though he had expected 
this, and his companions did likewise. "Well," 
said he, "what is the trouble?" "You know quite 
well," replied the Cockney, "so you may as well 
strip without further question." Whatever the 
stranger was, he certainly was no coward, for his 
coat and waistcoat were soon in the hands of his 
companion. The Cockney lost no time, and the next 
minute they stood squaring before each other in such 
a scientific way as promised the onlookers a most in- 
teresting exhibition. Although the stranger was the 
taller of the two, the Cockney seemed to possess the 
longer reach. Round after round they fought, and 
in spite of their heavy and muddy boots the footwork 
was neat, and the dodging of their heads, and the 
feinting of their arms made the more gentle onlookers 

[124] 



The Canal 

overlook the drawing of blood. There was no 
wrestling, or mauling on the ground, and there was 
no attempt at foul blows, for each of the principals 
seemed to value the favour of that most apprecia- 
tive assembly. It looked more like a friendly ex- 
hibition than two men attempting to take life. The 
spectators laughed approval and buzzed with admir- 
ation until even the bleeding men, hearing this, 
chaffed one another, and smiled at each other grimly 
with their battered faces. Yes, it seemed friendly 
enough until the tenth round when the Cockney, who 
the round previous seemed to show signs of weari- 
ness, called to his assistance some latent force which 
set his arms to work like a pair of axes on a tree, 
and down his opponent fell, and the battle was lost 
and won. The stranger was borne away by his com- 
panions, and Cockney Tom returned to the camp to 
dress his injuries, which did not prevent him from 
work on the following day. The Cockney was well 
pleased with this exploit, and if his opponent was 
one of those thugs and murderers, who had taken an 
active part in perhaps fifty or sixty murders, he would 
certainly be lucky if he never met with severer pun- 
ishment. 



[125] 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE HOUSE-BOAT 

1 WORKED long enough on this canal to save 
fifty dollars, and then quit, feeling the old 
restlessness return, which had unsettled me for 
some time. With this comfortable sum in my pos- 
session I kept beating my way west until I arrived 
at St. Louis, a large city on the Mississippi, having 
up till now lived frugally, and spent nothing on 
travelling. This kind of life was often irksome to 
me, when I have camped all night alone in the 
woods, beside a fire, when one good sociable com- 
panion might have turned the life into an ideal one. 
Often have I waked in the night, or early morning, 
to find spaces opposite occupied by one or two stran- 
gers, who had seen the fire in the distance, and had 
been guided to me by its light. One night, in In- 
diana, when it had rained heavily throughout the 
day, I had made my fire and camped under a thick 
leaved tree, where the ground was dryer than in 
the open. Sometime about midnight, I felt myself 
roughly shaken, at the same time a sudden shower 
fell that pinned me breathless to the earth. I looked 
here and there, but could see no one. Then I left 

[126] 



The House-Boat 

the shelter of the tree and saw to my surprise, that 
the night was fine, and that the stars were thick 
and shining. As I replenished the fire with wood, 
of which I always gathered in an abundance before 
darkness came, it puzzled me much to account for 
this. Although I thought the shaking must have 
been a dream, my wet clothes were a sufficient proof 
of the rain's reality. Every man I met on the fol- 
lowing day enquired where I had lodged during 
the earthquake shock on the previous night, and 
that question explained everything. The earth had 
shaken me, and the leaves of the tree, which had been 
gathering all day, the rain drops had in one moment 
relinquished them all upon my sleeping form. 

On reaching St. Louis I still had something like 
forty dollars, and being tired of my own thoughts, 
which continually upbraided me for wasted time, 
resolved to seek some congenial fellowship, so that 
in listening to other men's thoughts I might be ren- 
dered deaf to my own. I had bought a daily paper, 
and had gone to the levee, so that I might spend 
a few hours out of the sun, reading, and watching 
the traffic on the river. Seeing before me a large 
pile of lumber, I hastened towards it, that I might 
enjoy its shady side. When I arrived I saw that 
the place was already occupied by two strangers, 
one being a man of middle age, and the other a 
youth of gentlemanly appearance. Seating myself, 
I began to read, but soon had my attention drawn to 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

their conversation. The young fellow, wanting to 
go home, and being in no great hurry, proposed buy- 
ing a house-boat and floating leisurely down the 
Mississippi to New Orleans, from which place he 
would then take train to Southern Texas, where 
his home was. "We will go ashore," he said, "and 
see the different towns, and take in fresh provisions 
as they are needed." The elder of the two, who had 
a strong Scotch accent, allowed a little enthusiasm 
to ooze out of his dry temperament, and agreed 
without much comment. "Excuse me, gentlemen," 
I said, "I could not help but hear your conversation 
and, if you have no objection, would like to share 
expenses and enjoy your company on such a trip." 
The Texan, being young and impetuous, without 
the least suspicion of strangers, jumped to his feet, 
exulting at the social project. Scotty, more calm, 
but with a shrewd eye to the financial side of the 
question, said that he thought the trip would cer- 
tainly be enjoyed better by three, and that the ex- 
pense would not be near so great per head. We had 
no difficulty in purchasing a house-boat. Hundreds 
of these are moored to the banks, lived in by 
fishermen and their wives, and others in various ways 
employed on the river. But, of course, the one we 
required was to be much smaller than these. We 
found one, at last, rather battered, and ill-condi- 
tioned, for which we were asked eleven dollars. 
Scotty, to our unfeigned disgust, acted the Jew in 

[128] 



The House-Boat 

this matter of trade, and had succeeded in beating 
the price down to nine dollars and a half when we 
to his annoyance offered to pay that sum without 
more ado. But Scotty, although mean in these bus- 
iness matters, was strictly honest and just in paying 
an equal share; for, after I had paid the odd half 
a dollar, he did not forget that amount when we 
came to stocking the boat with provisions. We lost 
no time in getting these, and then went ashore for 
the evening's enjoyment and the night's sleep, in- 
tending to start early the next morning. And with 
these prospects before us, a very pleasant evening 
we had. 

At nine o'clock the following morning, we weighed 
anchor — our anchor being a large stone — and drifted 
into the current, the young Texan using an oar as 
a tiller. And what a strange voj^age we had, fraught 
with more danger than many would dream. This 
Mississippi river often had only a few yards for 
navigation purposes, even when the distance from 
bank to bank was between two and three miles. 
Sometimes we were in the middle of this broad river, 
and yet were in extreme danger of floundering, for 
we could touch the bottom with a short stick. Yes, 
we were in danger of floundering, and yet our ship 
drew less than six inches of water! Trees, whose 
branches were firmly embedded in the mud, had their 
roots bobbing up and down, bobbing up unawares, 
and we were often in danger of being impaled on 

[129] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

one of these ere we could steer clear of it. Some- 
times we would see villages and small towns that 
in the remote past had been built flush on the banks 
of this river : now they were lying quiet and neglected 
a mile or more away, owing to the river's determi- 
nation to take his own course. Hundreds of lives 
had been sacrificed, dying of swamp fever, in build- 
ing levees and high banks to prevent this, and mil- 
lions of dollars utilised for the same purpose — but 
the Father of Waters has hitherto had his own will, 
and can be expected to be seen at any place, and 
at any time. 

Towards evening we would put ashore on a sand 
bar, making a fire with the driftwood, of which there 
was an abundance. Here we cooked supper, slept 
and enjoyed breakfast the next morning. There 
was no other water to be had than that of the river, 
which the natives of the south claim to be healthy. 
We had no objection to using it for cooking and 
washing, but it was certainly too thick for drinking 
cold — or rather lukewarm, for it was never cold in 
the summer months. We would fill a large can 
and let the water settle for twenty or thirty minutes, 
and, after taking great care in drinking, a sediment 
of mud would be left at the bottom a quarter or 
three-eighths of an inch deep. 

We put ashore at one place where a number of 
negroes and white men had assembled in expecta- 
tion of work, when man again proposed putting 

[130] 



The House-Boat 

forth his puny strength against the Mississippi, 
where we decided to wait a day or two and take 
our chance of being employed. Unfortunately the 
ill feeling which invariably exists between these two 
colours came to a climax on the first day of our 
arrival. The negroes, insulting and arrogant, 
through their superiority of numbers, became at last 
unbearable. On which the white men, having that 
truer courage that scorned to count their own 
strength, assembled together, and after a few mo- 
ments' consultation, resolved to take advantage of 
the first provocation. This came sooner than was 
expected. A negro, affecting to be intoxicated, stag- 
gered against a white man, and was promptly 
knocked down for his trouble. The negroes, whose 
favourite weapon is the razor, produced these useful 
blades from different parts of concealment, stood 
irresolute, waiting for a leader, and then came for- 
ward in a body, led by a big swaggerer in bare feet, 
whose apparel consisted of a red shirt and a pair of 
patched trousers held up by a single brace. These 
white men, who were so far outnumbered, said little, 
but the negroes were loud in their abuse. This 
soon led to blows and in the ensuing fight, knives, 
razors and fists were freely used. Only one shot 
was fired, and that one told. When the negroes, 
whose courage had failed at such a determined re- 
sistance, were in full flight, the tall swaggerer was 
left behind with a bullet in his heart. Several men 

[131] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

were wounded, with gashes on necks, arms, and dif- 
ferent parts of the body. Small fights continued 
throughout the day, but it was left for the night 
to produce a deed of foul murder. A white man 
was found next morning with his body covered with 
blood from thirty-nine wounds. Half a dozen 
razors must have set to work on him in the dark. 
The razor is a sly, ugly-looking weapon, but is far 
less dangerous than a knife, a poker, or even a short 
heavy piece of wood; and as it cannot pierce to the 
heart or brain, that is why this man took so long 
in the killing. This deed roused the sheriff and his 
marshal, and they followed the black murderers to 
the adjoining state, but returned next day without 
them. 

We embarked again, but owing to the young 
Texan being taken sick with malarial fever, resolved 
to put ashore for medicine at the first large town. 
This malarial fever is very prevalent in these parts, 
especially this state of Arkansas, which is three parts 
a swamp. He suffered so much that we decided 
to call on the first house-boat seen, and ask assistance 
of the fishermen, and soon we had an opportunity 
of doing so. Seeing a large house-boat moored at 
the mouth of a small creek, we put the tiller — 
which as I have said, was an oar — to its proper 
work, and sculled towards the shore. We ran to 
land within ten yards of the other boat, and the 
fisherman, who had seen us coming, stood waiting 

[132] 



The House-Boat 

on the sands to know our wants. He was a typical 
swamp man, with a dark sickly complexion, thin- 
faced and dry-skinned and, though he was nearly 
six feet in height, his weight, I believe, could not 
have exceeded one hundred and twenty pounds. 
His left cheek was considerably swollen, which I 
thought must be due to neuralgia until the swelling 
began to disappear from that side; and, after 
witnessing for a few seconds a frightful, even pain- 
ful contortion of the face, I saw the right cheek come 
into possession of the same beautiful round curve, 
leaving the left cheek as its fellow had been. It 
was now apparent that the one object of this man's 
life was to chew tobacco. To him we related our 
troubles, asking his advice, and for a little temporary 
assistance, for which he would be paid. Up to the 
present time he had not opened his lips, except a 
right or left corner to squirt tobacco juice, send- 
ing an equal share to the north and south. "I guess 
there's some quinine in the shanty boat," he said, 
after a long silence, "which I reckon will relieve 
him considerably, but he ought ter go home ter th' 
women folk, that's straight." He led the way to 
his boat, and we followed. We soon had the young 
Texan in comfort, and Scotty and myself returned 
to transfer some provisions to the fisherman's house- 
boat, for the evening's use. While doing so, we 
decided to sell our own boat, at any price, when we 
would walk to the nearest railroad, and send the 

[133] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

young fellow home ; after which we would seek some 
employment and settle down. We cooked supper, 
and then slept in the open air, beside a large fire, 
leaving our sick friend comfortable in the boat. | 

The next morning we offered our house-boat for 
sale for six dollars, with all its belongings. The 
fisherman explained to us that he not only had no 
money, but rarely had use for it. Everything he 
needed he paid for in fish, and often went months at 
a time without a glimpse of money of any descrip- 
tion. To my surprise the one thing that did seem to 
claim his attention, for which he could not help but 
display some greed, was the large stone which we 
had brought with us from St. Louis, and which we 
had used for anchor This stone certainly had no 
vein of gold or silver in it, it was not granite or 
marble, and could boast of no beauty, being a very* 
ordinary looking stone indeed, but it seemed to have 
a strange fascination for this man. The fisherman! 
had no money, and had nothing to barter which 
might be of use to us, so we made him a present 
of the whole lot, and left him sitting on the stone, 
watching our departure. "He seemed very eager 
to possess that stone," I remarked to Scotty, as we 
followed a trail through a thicket, so that we might 
reach the high-road. "Yes," said Scotty, "for in 
this part of the country, where there is little but 
sand, wood and mud, a stone, a piece of iron, or any 
small thing of weight, can be put to many uses." 

[134] 



The House-Boat 

After reaching the road we had twenty miles to 
walk to reach the nearest railway station, at which 
place we arrived late that night, the young Texan 
being then weak and exhausted. A train was leav- 
ing at midnight for New Orleans, and, after seeing 
him safely aboard, we sat in the station till day- 
break. Early the next morning we were examining 
the town, waiting for business to start, so that we 
might enquire as to its prospects for work. This 
seemed to be good, there being a large stave factory 
which employed a number of men. We succeeded 
in our quest, starting to work that morning, and at 
dinner time received a note of introduction to an 
hotel. That evening we associated with our fel- 
low-workmen, and, in the course of conversation, we 
discovered that there was no particular time to re- 
ceive wages, there being no regular pay day. Some- 
times wages ran on for a month, six weeks, two 
months, etc. At the present time no man had re- 
ceived wages for over two months. "Of course," 
he explained to us, "anything you require you can 
easily get an order for on the stores." We worked 
two weeks at this factory, when I was taken ill my- 
self with malaria, and not being able to eat, soon 
became too weak for work. In this condition I 
went to the office for my money, but could not get 
it, and saw that nothing else could be done than 
to get an order on the stores, and take my wages- 
out in clothes, shoes, etc. Scotty was scared at this, 

[135] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

and quitted work at once to demand his wages ini 
cash, and there I left him, waiting for a settle-' 
ment. I intended going to Memphis, the nearest 
large town, and placing myself in its hospital, whilst 
Scotty was going to New Orleans, where I promised 
to meet him in a month, providing I was sufficiently 
recovered to do so. 

I don't know what possessed me to walk out of 
this town, instead of taking a train, but this I did, 
to my regret. For I became too weak to move, and, 
coming to a large swamp, I left the railroad and 
crawled into it, and for three days and the same 
number of nights, lay there without energy to con- 
tinue my journey. Wild hungry hogs were there, 
who approached dangerously near, but ran snort- 
ing away when my body moved. A score or more 
of buzzards had perched waiting on the branches 
above me, and I knew that the place was teeming 
with snakes. I suffered from a terrible thirst, and 
drank of the swamp-pools, stagnant water that was 
full of germs, and had the colours of the rainbow, 
one dose of which would have poisoned some men 
to death. When the chill was upon me, I crawled 
into the hot sun, and lay there shivering with the 
cold; and when the hot fever possessed me, I crawled : 
back into the shade. Not a morsel to eat for four 
days, and very little for several days previous. I 
could see the trains pass this way and that, but had 
not the strength to call. Most of the trains whistled, 

[136] 



The House-Boat 

and I knew that they stopped either for water or 
coal within a mile of where I lay. Knowing this 
to be the case, and certain that it would be death 
to remain longer in this deadly swamp, I managed 
to reach the railroad track, and succeeded in reach- 
ing the next station, where most of these trains 
stopped. The distance had been less than a mile, 
but it had taken me two hours to accomplish. I 
then paid my way from this station, being in a hurry 
to reach Memphis, thinking my life was at its close. 
When I reached that town, I took a conveyance from 
the station to the hospital. At that place my con- 
dition was considered to be very serious, but the 
doctor always bore me in mind, for we were both of 
the same nationality, and to that, I believe, I owe 
my speedy recovery. 



[137] 



CHAPTER XV 

A LYNCHING 

UPON leaving the hospital, I remained sev- 
eral days in Memphis, spending most of my 
hours enjoying the shade and sunshine of a 
small park, which is pleasantly situated in the main 
portion of that town. One morning, while doing 
this, I was accosted by one whom I soon recognised 
as a fellow worker of mine in the stave factory. 
From him I learnt that the firm had smashed, no 
pay day had come, and the stores had all absolutely 
refused to honour the firm's orders; while some men 
had left the town disgusted, and others were pa- 
tiently waiting a settlement that would never come. 
This man was going north, so I left him at Mem- 
phis, intending to beat my way to New Orleans, and 
from that town to the state of Texas. 

These states of Tennessee, Arkansas, Mississippi 
and Louisiana, are the homes of the negroes of old. 
It is a strange contrast to see the old negroes, who 
in their young da5^s were slaves, reverently raising 
their hats to any seedy looking white man whom 
they meet, calling him such titles as captain, major, 

[138] 



A Lynching 

colonel and even general — and the half defiant 
gloom of the free, young generations, who are still 
in some respects slaves to the white men. These 
negroes lived in small wooden shanties, and rarely 
received money for their labour. They worked for 
the planter at so much a day. This gentleman kept 
on the plantation a large general store, and supplied 
their wants at such an exorbitant price that the ne- 
groes were seldom out of debt, when the busy sea- 
son commenced. In the cities, silk would be far 
cheaper than the common flimsy muslin which poor 
black Dinah so much coveted from her master's store. 
I have heard many an old negro say that he was far 
worse off as a freeman than as a slave. 

The prisons in the north were like hotels, but here 
in the south went to the extreme of cruelty. In 
some places a man would be tried and perhaps iined 
ten dollars and costs. A citizen, having need of a 
cheap labourer, would pay this fine, take possession 
of the prisoner, and make him work out his fine on 
the farm. This citizen would buy the prisoner 
cheap overalls, dungarees, shirts, shoes, etc., for a 
few dollars, and charge the prisoner four times their 
amount. The prisoner was not free to refuse these, 
and being forced to work out their price, was kept 
in this way twice the number of his days. I was 
very much afraid of all this, although a wandering 
white man was not in nearly so much danger as a 
negro. 

[139] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

Some days after leaving Memphis, I arrived at a 
small town, where I was surprised to see an unusual 
amount of bustle, the surrounding country for miles 
having sent in all its able bodied men. Every man 
was armed with a gun, and they stood in small 
groups talking outside the various stores. It seemed 
as though there had been rumours of an invasion, 
and that these men were organising to defend their 1 1 
homes and country, but I had not the least idea of ■ 
what had really happened. The small groups now 
began to join together into larger ones, and the larger 
groups joined until they became one large body of 
men. This one body then shouldered guns and 
moved quickly along the main street, the men's faces 
being drawn and pale. I followed on, perhaps the 
one unarmed man among them, curious to know the 
meaning of it all. They came at last to a halt, 
and, to see the reason for this, I stepped across the 
way, and saw that they had halted before a large 
building, which, by its barred windows, I had no 
difficulty in recognising as the jail. One man had 
curled around his shoulders a long rope, and this 
man with two others knocked loudly with the butt 
ends of their guns on the prison door. Almost in 
an instant the door was flung wide open, and the 
sheriff stood in the open way to know their wants. 
The men must have demanded the prison keys, for 
I saw the sheriff at once produce them, which he 
handed to these men without the least show of re- 

[140] 



A Lynching 

sistance. This man with the rope and several others 
then entered the jail, and the silent crowd without 
cast their eyes in that direction. Up to the pres- 
ent time I had not heard a distinct voice, nothing 
but the buzz of low whispering. But suddenly from 
the jail's interior there came a loud shriek and a 
voice crying for mercy. Men now appeared in the 
open doorway, dragging after them a negro at the 
end of a rope. This unfortunate wretch was pos- 
sessed of a terror that is seldom seen in a human be- 
ing. He fell on his knees to pray, but was jerked 
to his feet ere he could murmur the first words, O 
Lord. He staggered to and fro and sideways, at 
the same time howling and jabbering, foaming at 
the mouth, and showing the horrible white of his 
eyes. I can well understand a man screaming, trem- 
bling and crying for mercy, when actually enduring 
bodily pain, but that one should show such a terror 
at the thought of it, filled me more with disgust than 
pity. That this prisoner should have been so brutal 
and unfeeling in inflicting pain on another, and 
should now show so much cowardice in anticipation 
of receiving punishment inadequate to his offence, 
dried in me the milk of human kindness, and ban- 
ished my first thoughts, which had been to escape 
this horrible scene without witnessing its end. For 
it was now I remembered reading of this man's of- 
fence, and it was of the most brutal kind, being 
much like the work of a wild beast. They now 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

marched him from the jail, their strong arms sup- 
porting his terror stricken limbs, but no man reviled 
him with his tongue, and I saw no cowardly hand 
strike him. Soon they came to a group of trees on 
the outskirts of the town, and, choosing the largest 
of these, they threw the rope's end over its strongest 
branch, the prisoner at the same time crying for 
mercy, and trying to throw his body full on the 
ground. When this was done a dozen hands caught 
the rope's end, made one quick jerk, and the prison- 
er's body was struggling in the air. Then all these 
men shouldered their guns, fired one volley, and in 
a second the body was hanging lifeless with a hun- 
dred shots. In five minutes after this, nothing but 
the corpse remained to tell of what had occurred, the 
men having quietly scattered towards their homes. 
A few days after this, I was in New Orleans, in- 
tending to spend a week or two in that city, before 
I started on my journey to Texas. It was in this 
city, three days after my arrival, that I became the 
victim of an outrage which was as unsatisfactory to 
others as to myself. Having been to the theatre, 
and being on my way back home late at night, half 
a dozen men, whom I scarcely had time to recognise 
as negroes, sprang from a dark corner, and, without 
saying a word, or giving the least chance of escape 
or defence, biffed and banged at my face and head 
until I fell unconscious at their feet. Their motive, 
without a doubt, was robbery, but having my money 

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A Lynching 

concealed in a belt next to my body, they had to 
be satisfied with a five cent piece, which was all my 
pockets contained. Such brutal outrages as these 
are seldom committed by white men, who having 
the more cool courage, demand a man's money at 
the commencement, and do not resort to violence, 
except it be their victim's wish. But this not very 
intelligent race half murder a man without being 
sure of anything for their pains. White men will 
search a man as he stands, and if he possesses noth- 
ing, he may go his way uninjured, followed per- 
haps, by a curse or two of disappointment; but these 
negroes prefer to murder a man first, and then to 
search the dead body. They are certainly born 
thieves. On the river boats, that ply the Mississippi 
from St. Louis to New Orleans, which are all 
manned by negroes, with the exception of those hold- 
ing the higher offices, a negro thief will often spoil a 
six dollar pair of trousers in robbing his victim of 
a twenty-five cent piece. When a man is asleep the 
negro will bend over him, feeling the outside of his 
trousers where the pockets are. If he feels the shape 
of a coin, instead of working his fingers carefully 
into the mouth of the pocket, he takes out his razor 
and, holding the coin with the fingers of his left 
hand, cuts it out, bringing away coin, part of the 
lining, pocket and trousers. When the victim wakes 
he, or some one else, sees the hole, and they at once 
know the meaning of it. I remember a trip on one 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

of these boats when a white man feigned a sleep, 
lying on his back on a bale of cotton, with his hands i 
in his coat pockets. In his right pocket was a re- T 
volver, which his right hand held ready cocked for 
use. These negroes are always on the look out for 
sleepers, and one of these thieves was soon bending 
over his expected victim. He had felt a coin and, 
taking out his razor, was in the act of cutting it 
out, when there was a sharp report, and the negro 
fell back shot through the brain. The supposed 
sleeper quietly rose to his feet, and when the captain 
and some officers came, he simply pointed to the 
negro and the fallen razor, and no other explanation 
was needed. At the next stopping place the captain 
had a few words with the authorities, and the dead 
body was taken ashore, but the white passenger con- 
tinued his journey without being bothered about a 
trial or examination. There was no more thieving 
during that trip. 

I soon left New Orleans, being possessed with a 
restless spirit, and, after visiting Galveston, Euston, / 
and many more towns of less importance, I made 
my way through the heart of Texas to the town of 
Paris, which lies on the borders of the Indian terri- 
tory. It was in a saloon in the main street of this 
town that I had my attention drawn to a glass case, 
wherein was seen hanging a cord, at the end of 
which was something that looked very much like a 

[144] 



A Lynching 

walnut. On looking closer, I saw a small heap of 
dust at the bottom. Seeing that this case contained 
no stuffed animal, nor any model of ingenious 
mechanism, I began to read the printed matter, curi- 
ous for an explanation. This small thing dangling 
at the end of the cord purported to be the heart of 
a negro, whom the people had some time previously 
burned at the stake. He had suffered a terrible 
death : so had his little victim, a mere child of a few 
years, who had been found in the woods torn limb 
from limb. This negro had been arrested by the 
sheriff, and sentenced to a short term adequate to 
his offence. After he had been released, he had 
taken his revenge on the sheriff's child, bearing her 
off when on her way to school. The sheriff's wife, 
being the child's mother, had with her own hand 
applied the torch to this monster, and if her hand 
had failed, any woman in this land of many millions 
would have willingly done her this service. 

I left Paris that night, catching a fast cattle train, 
and arrived the following morning at Fort Smith, 
Arkansas. Bill Cook, the train and bank robber, 
and his gang, were being tried this morning, and a 
special train was now waiting to convey them to the 
penitentiary. I saw this notorious free-booter, when 
he was brought to the station — a young man be- 
tween twenty and thirty years, receiving a sentence 
of forty years' imprisonment. One of his gang, 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

Cherokee Bill, a desperado of nineteen years, was 
indicted for murder, and remained in Fort Smith to 
be hanged. The train steamed out with its many 
deputies to guard a few prisoners — few, but proved 
to be very dangerous. 



[146] 



CHAPTER XVI 

THE CAMP 

WHO would have dreamt that so many 
well known beggars would have met 
together at one camp, without any pre- 
arranged plans'? The time was morning and the 
scene was on the outskirts of Pittsburg, and the char- 
acters were Philadelphia Slim and Wee Shorty, who 
had all night ridden the freight car and had now 
dismounted near the camp, which they knew of old. 
They both had cold victuals in plenty, with dry 
coffee and sugar, and they were not long in making 
a blaze and fetching water from the spring before 
they were seated comfortably to their breakfast, after 
which they intended to sleep, for they were more 
weary than working men. 

They were not without money; for Wee Shorty 
and Slim had, the day previous, been encamped with 
others about a hundred miles from the present spot, 
at which place there had come to the camp an un- 
fortunate blacksmith who possessed society papers 
but lacked courage to beg with them. On which 
Wee Shorty had conceived a most daring plan, which 
was to borrow the aforesaid papers, with the black- 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

smith's consent, and to make his way to the nearest 
blacksmith's shop. With this idea in his mind the 
Wee Man had bound his hand in white linen, so 
that he could plead disablement in case the black- 
smith doubted him to be the legitimate owner of 
the papers, and to prove his veracity, would test 
him with a little job. After binding his hand in 
this way. Wee Shorty, who was no more than five 
feet in height, and who had small white hands and 
a pale face, and whose weight never exceeded seven 
stone and a half, and who looked more like a sickly- 
tailor than a blacksmith — after taking this precau- 
tion, Wee Shorty made his way to the blacksmith's 
shop. In less than twenty minutes he had returned 
with a dollar in small change, and had returned the 
poor blacksmith his papers, and generously given 
him one-fourth of his makings. Yes, it would in- 
deed be a hard town if this wee fellow failed to make 
money. 

As I have already said. Slim and the artful one 
were tired after their night's ride, and they were 
well pleased to find the camp unoccupied by stran- 
gers. But they had scarcely made their coffee and 
swallowed the first mouthful, when the dried twigs 
were heard to crack beneath a heavy tread and, the 
next moment, there walked into the camp the Indian 
Kid, whom the present proprietors had not seen for 
over twelve months. 

What a meeting was there, and what confidences 

[148] 



The Camp 

were exchanged. There was good reason for the 
Kid not having been seen, for he had been incar- 
cerated in a jail. He had committed his first and 
last burglary, which had not been done with an eye 
to profit, but out of a mean spirit of revenge. He 
had been refused charity at a house and, on leaving 
the place, had spied a small outhouse in which he 
saw many things easy to carry, and easily to be con- 
verted into money. Bearing this in mind he had 
returned after dark, scaled the back wall, and was 
soon in possession of a large bundle consisting of 
shirts, frocks, shoes and various carpenter's tools. 
All this had been done through a spirit of revenge, 
for the Kid swore that he could have begged the 
worth of the bundle in half an hour. Being in 
possession of that bundle at that strange hour of 
the night, he was afraid to carry it into the town for 
fear that the police would enquire his business, so 
he hid it in the bushes, which in the night looked 
so dark and thick; after which he had artfully 
walked some distance away, and laid himself down 
to sleep until morning. It must have been daylight 
for several hours when the Kid rose hastily and 
went in quest of his bundle. But the bundle had 
disappeared, and the Kid had been cruelly robbed, 
by early workmen he at first thought, who had spied 
the bundle in the bushes, which appeared so much 
less heavy by day than by night. However it was 
not the early workman who had done this, but a 

[149] 



1 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

plain clothes policeman who still hid behind the 
bushes and, seeing the Kid searching for his bundle, 
sprang from concealment, saying — "You are look- 
ing for a bundle, and I am looking for you." Such 
was the Kid's story, recited at great pains, for he 
often rambled in his discourse to laud himself as a 
successful beggar who would, on no account, commit 
burglary for profit; all of which accounted for his 
twelve months' disappearance. 

His story was scarcely at an end when who should 
walk into the camp but Windy, the talkative Windy, 
whose tongue had entertained many a camp with 
strange and unique experiences. Of course, at his 
heels was Pennsylvania Dutch, a faithful friend 
enough but a poor beggar, who was no more than 
a pensioner on Windy's bounty, and acted the part 
of a man-servant. 

But there was another surprise to follow ; for Eng- 
lish Harry, who had been in Pittsburg for some 
time past, having now walked out of the city to 
take a glance at the camp, walked into it at this 
very time, and to his astonishment and joy found 
the place in possession of good beggars instead of 
common work seekers, as he had at first feared. 

Only imagine all these notorious men meeting to- 
gether haphazard in this manner. They could 
scarcely recover their astonishment. There was 
nothing else to be done but to make a muster of 

[150] 



The Camp 

what money was in the camp, and to send Pennsyl- 
vania Dutch for its worth in whisky, so as to cele- 
brate such an event by a carousal. This was at 
once done, and Windy's pensioner shook off his lazi- 
ness from head to foot, which made Wee Shorty 
sarcastically remark — "Dutchy would rather buy 
than beg." To which Windy, in a voice of despair, 
answered — "He will never make a beggar and, if I 
did not keep a sharp eye on him, or anything oc- 
curred to part us, he would live in orchards and 
turnip fields until he saw a chance to become a 
working man. He confessed, when I first met him, 
that he had lived for ten days on green corn and 
apples, so I took him in hand and kept him, think- 
ing my example would rouse him to action, but it 
was of no use, for the poor fellow has not the heart. 
However, I never forget poor Dutchy when I am 
foraging," said Windy, rather tenderly. 

It was not long before the object of these remarks 
returned and placed before his companions two bot- 
tles of whisky. "Now, boys," said Windy, after 
he had become affected by several lots of spirits — 
"Now, boys, I propose that we hold this camp down 
for a whole week, and we will all rag up" — mean- 
ing that they would beg clothes and put on the 
appearance of gentlemen. His proposal was unani- 
mously seconded, and was quickly followed by a 
suggestion from the Indian Kid that they should 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

finish the whisky, which also met with no objec- 
tion. "We will hold the camp," cried Windy, 
"against all comers." They would certainly find 
no necessity for defending their privacy, for one 
glance at these six men, especially in their present 
condition, would have been sufficient to deter any 
decent-minded person from entering. This camp 
was now far more private than Mrs. Brown's house 
in town, who had a neighbour that never entered 
other people's doors without first knocking; but 
which neighbour never gave Mrs. Brown, or any 
one else, the chance to remove sundry things that 
were better concealed, nor waited to hear the cry 
"come in"; for she entered as she knocked, saying 
— "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Brown, it is only Mrs. 
White." 

Alas, the whisky soon gave out, and there was 
no more money, and what was to be done*? "I 
propose," said English Harry, "that we leave Penn- 
sylvania Dutch in charge of the camp while we go 
out foraging for an hour." To this they all agreed, 
and made their way towards the town. On reaching 
the suburbs they divided and went in different direc- 
tions, with the understanding that each man should 
be returned to the camp in less than two hours, and 
that each one should have no less than half a dollar. 

How it was done was a mystery, but Wee Shorty 
was back in less than an hour, not only with half 
a dollar but with twenty cents' worth of whisky in 

[152] 



The Camp 

a bottle. He was soon followed by Windy, who 
had begged fifty-five cents. After which came in 
English Harry and the Indian Kid together, each 
with half a dollar. But where was Philadelphia 
Slim, Wee Shorty's boon companion? For these 
were good beggars all, who could have almost per- 
suaded the birds to feed them in the wilderness, and 
Slim was by no means the worst, even though the 
Wee Man was by a small degree the best. Until 
they knew the fate of poor Slim they felt very little 
inclination to continue their carousal. 

It might have been three-quarters of an hour after 
the return of English Harry and the Kid, when they 
heard a step coming through the bush and, turning 
their eyes that way, were soon confronted by their 
late companion Slim. He had a large bundle under 
his arm, but to the surprise and anxiety of his com- 
panions, was holding to his nose a blood-stained 
pocket handkerchief. "Who has done that, Slim?" 
cried Wee Shorty, who had surreptitiously fortified 
himself with whisky, and who, being the smallest 
man, was naturally the most ferocious — "Who has 
done that?" he cried, springing to his feet and, with 
his hands dangerously clenched, standing to his full 
height. Slim did not answer this question at once, 
but threw down his bundle ; after which he produced 
a dollar bill and placed it thereon. Pointing then 
to the twain with his right hand — his left hand still 
being occupied with his bleeding nose — he said, 

[153] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

"Here is a suit of clothes and a dollar bill, and I 
have well earned them." Such words were mysteri- 
ous to his associates, for they knew that Slim would 
never at any price perform labour, and they came 
to the conclusion in their own minds that he had 
forcibly taken these things in a very high handed 
fashion, and had suffered in the act. What a dis- 
grace to the profession! 

After enquiring if there was any whisky to be 
had, and being supplied with the same by his par- 
ticular friend Wee Shorty, Slim proposed that Penn- 
sylvania Dutch should be again despatched with all 
speed for a fresh supply. Seeing this done he then 
seated himself and proceeded to give his experience. 

It seems that Slim had had more difficulty than 
was expected. A full half hour had elapsed, and 
Slim had not received one cent, although he had 
told his pitiful story to a number of people. He 
almost began to despair of success, but firmly re- 
solved not to return without something to show for 
his trouble. Seeing a very large house he went to 
the front door and rang the bell, but the door re- 
mained unanswered. Not to be baffled by this, and 
beginning to feel desperate, he made his way to 
the back of the house, and was just about to knock 
at the back door when a voice hailed him from an 
adjoining shed. Turning his eyes in that direction 
he saw a man in his white shirt sleeves, who seemed 
to be the master of the house. Now, as Slim looked 

[154] 



The Camp 

across, he saw into the shed, and behold there was 
a punching ball hanging from the ceiling, which 
was still moving as though this gentleman had only 
that moment finished practising. On Slim explain- 
ing his wants, which had been increasing in num- 
ber through his ill-success, the gentleman quietly 
went to a shelf and taking therefrom a pair of box- 
ing gloves told Slim that if he would oblige him 
with ten minutes' practice with the same, he would 
reward him with a dollar. Now it happened that 
these things were not entirely unknown to Slim, and 
once or twice in his life he had actually had them in 
his hands — but not on — and he had come to the 
conclusion that they could do but very little hurt. 
Therefore he donned the gloves, being as eager to 
earn an easy dollar as the master of the house was 
eager to practise. Alas! it was this difference in 
their motives which gave the gentleman an over- 
whelming victory and poor Slim a bloody nose and 
such aching bones. "For," said Slim to us, "sup- 
pose I had knocked him out, who was to pay me 
my dollar? He attacked me like a mad bull, and 
all I dare do was to act on the defence. Several 
times he left an opening which, had I taken ad- 
vantage of, would have ended in his collapse; and 
if he had died, there had been no witness to hear 
what bargain had been made between us. Being 
at such a disadvantage as I was," Slim continued, 
"he would, no doubt, have made matters worse if 

US5] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

my nose had not bled, which I began to wipe with 
the gloves. Seeing this he was afraid my blood 
would be conveyed by means of gloves to his own 
person, so he asked me if I had had enough. I 
thanked him that I had and, as we made our way 
towards the house, told him I would be thankful 
for any old clothes to replace my own, which were 
now stained with blood. He seemed to be so pleased 
at having drawn my blood that I believe he would 
have given me anything I asked for. Here are the 
clothes, but I don't know what they are like." 

Such was Slim's experience. On an inspection 
of the bundle it was found to contain a clean shirt, 
a pair of socks, two handkerchiefs, and an almost 
brand new suit of clothes. 

Just as Philadelphia Slim ended his story, Perm- 
sylvania Dutch returned with the whisky, and we 
all caroused until sleep overpowered us. 



[156] 






CHAPTER XVII 

HOME 

1HAD now been in the United States of 
America something like five years, working 
here and there as the inclination seized me, 
which, I must confess was not often. I was certainly 
getting some enjoyment out of life, but now and 
then the waste of time appalled me, for I still had 
a conviction that I was born to a different life. 
The knowledge that I had the advantage over the 
majority of strangers in that country, often con- 
soled me when feeling depressed. For my old 
grandmother had left me one-fehird profit of a small 
estate, my share at that time amounting to ten shill- 
ings per week, and during these five years I had not 
drawn one penny, therefore having over a hundred 
pounds entered to my account. So, when one would 
say how much he desired to return to his native 
land, but had no means of doing so, I would then 
explain how it could easily be done on the cattle 
boats. And if he protested, saying that he had not 
the courage to return penniless after so many years 
abroad, although I had no answer to console him, 
his objection was a pleasant reminder of my own 

[157] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

expectations. It was this knowledge that made me 
so idle and so indifferent to saving; and it was this 
small income that has been, and is in a commercial 
sense, the ruin of my life. 

It was now the end of October, and I was in Chi- 
cago squandering a summer's earnings, having, dur- 
ing the previous months, worked on a fruit farm 
in Illinois. I had been idling for three weeks, visit- 
ing the various theatres at night, and reading during 
the day. One Sunday, I had bought a weekly paper, 
wherein I read an appreciation of the poet Burns, 
with numerous quotations from his work. My 
thoughts wandered back to the past, the ambition 
of my early days, and the encouraging words of my 
elders. 

"Ah I" I said, with a sigh, "if during these five 
years I had had the daily companionship of good 
books, instead of all this restless wandering to and 
fro in a strange land, my mind, at the present hour, 
might be capable of some little achievement of its 
own." 

These thoughts haunted me all day, and that night 
a great joy came over me; for after my thoughts 
had tugged and pulled at my heart, all pointing in 
the one direction, which I saw was towards Eng- 
land, I settled with myself to follow them to that 
place. So, that night, I resolved to leave Chicago 
early the following day, beat my way to Baltimore, 
work a cattle boat to either Liverpool or London, and 

[158] 



Home 

from one of these places make my way back to 
where I belonged. With this object, I was up early 
the next morning, had breakfast, and in as happy 
a mood as when I first landed in America, left Chi- 
cago for the last time. 

The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad was an easy 
road to beat. I had taken with me a good lunch, 
with a small flask of whisky, so that I might attend 
to travelling for twenty or thirty hours without suf- 
fering thirst or hunger. At the end of thirty-six 
hours I got off a train, now being hungry and thirsty, 
at a small town, having by then traversed half the 
distance between Chicago and Baltimore. Without 
staying any length of time in Pittsburg, I caught a 
train for Connesville, and, arriving there in a few 
hours, had to dismount and wait the next train for 
Cumberland, in the State of Mar^'land. A train 
was now being made up, consisting of flat cars 
loaded with iron rails, and coal cars, also loaded. 
There was not much necessity on this road of con- 
cealing oneself, so I boldly mounted a coal car, and 
there I sat, exposed to the elements, and to the 
curious gaze of people at the various small towns 
through which we passed. Wbat surprised me not 
a little was that I seemed to be the only man that 
was beating his way on this train, whereas, this be- 
ing such an easy road, most trains had a number 
of tramps, some of them having two score or more. 
It did not take me long to notice that these people 

[159] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

at the different stations and villages stared at me 
widi something like awe, had pale faces, pointed at 
me in an unusual manner and whispered to each 
other. Now, between Connesville and Cumberland, 
the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad crosses the Alle- 
gheny mountains, and often the train, if heavy, can 
scarcely crawl up, after which it runs down at a 
terrific speed. We had just mounted a steep ele- 
vation, had reached the top, and the train men were 
making fast their brakes for the steep incline on 
the other sid^ of the mountain, when my attention 
was drawn to a large number of people assembled 
in the valley below, some distance ahead. I then 
saw that the mountain side was covered with coal, 
and between forty and fifty trucks lay in a heap 
at the foot of the mountain. This train had ap- 
parently, through some cause or another, jumped 
the rails, and the cars had rolled over and over 
from top to bottom. When I reached Cumberland, 
still being stared at, and pointed out at the various 
stations and villages on the way, it was not long 
before an explanation was forthcoming. I, it 
seemed, had followed a train that had killed forty- 
four men — two brakesmen, the engineer, conductor, 
and forty tramps who were beating their way. On 
coming down the mountain side, the brakes had 
refused to work, the fireman had jumped off in time 
to save his own life, and the others had all been 
precipitated with the train into the valley and killed. 

[160] 



Home 

It had run with such a reckless speed that it could 
not possibly maintain its hold of the rails. And 
this accounted for my being the one traveller on 
this train, and how horror-stricken the people had 
seemed at my temerity, which, of course, was no 
more than ignorance of the mishap. After this ride 
I never again felt comfortable on a train, much pre- 
ferring to take my chance on the water, however 
stormy it might be. It made me pause when this 
same night an unknown man was struck down by 
a fast express train, mangled and cut into pieces. 
Two or three trains left this town of Cumberland 
before I could summon sufficient courage to ride. 
I was standing, still wondering whether I should ride 
or walk from this town to Baltimore, when a switch- 
man, who had just helped finish making ready a 
train, said — "Hello.^ lad; which way are you go- 
ing, to Baltimore*?" On answering in the affirma- 
tive, he said, pointing to this train, "Jump on: you 
will be there early in the morning I" Which I did, 
at the same time saying to myself, "This is my last 
train ride in America, whether I live or die." No 
sleep that night, and I was not sorry to reach Balti- 
more. 

I had something like fifty dollars at this time, 
and intended to go at once to the cattleman's office, 
and to ship at the first opportunity, so that I might 
still have a few pounds left when I landed in Eng- 
land. So, when I reached Baltimore, I soon made 

[i6i] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

my way to that place, and on entering, recognised 
several of the old cattlemen, among whom was no 
less a person than Australian Red, who it seemed 
had lost all ambition for a more respectable life. 
I invited him out, with two others, and we had sev- 
eral drinks, and at night visited the theatre. "Now," 
I said, after leaving the theatre, well knowing that 
these men would unscrupulously bleed me to the last 
cent, and would take a cunning delight in robbing 
me and bearing all expenses themselves — "now," I 
said, "one drink more, and we have reached the end 
of my resources." 

Shipping, Red explained to me on the following 
day, was rather slow for experienced hands. He 
had been begging Baltimore for more than six weeks, 
and was still without prospect of making a trip. 
He explained that he could go at any time for a 
pound, and had had a chance or two to go for thirty 
shillings, but very few two-pound men had been 
called for during the last three months. "Are you 
going out for breakfast'?" he asked. "If you have 
any more money left, don't be foolish enough to 
spend it on food, for I can get you more than you 
want of that, and the money can be used for pleas- 
ure." "You already know that I have no more 
money," I said to him, feeling myself change colour 
with guilt, which he did not notice. "Wait here 
till I return," he said. "If you don't feel inclined 
to beg, for a day or two, you need have no fear of 

[162] 



Home 

starving," He then left me, and, after he had gone, 
I followed, and feeling guilty and ashamed, turned 
into a restaurant for breakfast. Later on, when 
I returned to the office. Red was waiting for me 
with an abundance of food, for he had made extra 
exertion on this particular morning. "Come," he 
said, "you must be hungry by this time." Knowing 
that I had this part to keep up, I sat down, but 
after slowly eating a morsel or two, which had been 
difficult to swallow, I found it necessary to plead 
a full stomach. Red was persistent, and so dissatis- 
fied at this that I could not help but feel grateful 
for such kindness, and, feeling more shame than 
ever at playing such a part, I arose, telling him I 
would wait for him outside the office. He soon 
followed, and, leading the way to another part of 
the city, I commenced with him a spree that ended 
in a week's debauchery. Both of us then being pen- 
niless, we returned to the cattleman's office, to find 
that a good chance had been lost in our absence, when 
the shipper had enquired for us. 

"What," cried Red, "go home for good next trip, 
eh*? Why, you are cursed, like myself, by restless- 
ness, and, mark me, you will not remain six months 
in your native town." "Perhaps not," I said, "but 
I assure you, that neither this town, nor this country, 
shall again feel my tread I" 

Some days after this I was sent with several others 
to rope cattle at the yards, and there met a foreman 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

under whom I had made a former trip. "Hallo," 
said he, "I have not seen you for some time; are 
you going with this lot of cattle?" "I don't know," 
was my answer, "but I should certainly like to, if 
there is need of a two-pound man." "Well," he 
said, "I'll put in a good word for you at the office." 
That night the shipping master approached me on 
the subject. "Look here," he said, "I can only give 
you thirty shillings for this trip. If you like to 
wait, you can have two pounds, but I warn you, 
the chance may be a long time coming. What do 
you say?" "I'll sign for thirty shillings," I said, 
with difficulty trying to conceal my eagerness; which 
was at once done. I was alone on this trip, among 
strangers. Had Australian Red accompanied me, 
no doubt I should have spent my train fare, and been 
forced to return to America on the same boat. 

What an enjoyable trip this was from beginning 
to end I What music heard in the weighing of the 
anchor, and what a delightful sensation when the 
good ship moved slowly from her dock! I per- 
formed my duty with a new pleasure, leaping here 
and there at any sign of danger, giving one steer 
longer or shorter rope, as the case required, knowing 
what pleasant dreams would be mine at night, when 
the day's work was done. And when this pleasant 
time came, I would lie in my bunk and take an in- 
ventory of all the old familiar things which had 

[164] 



Home 

been stored in my memory, unthought of for over five 
years, and nothing would now escape me. I had 
written home only three times during this long ab- 
sence, three short letters in my first year abroad. 
Probably they had given me up for dead, and I 
would appear at their door as a visitant from another 
world. One thought often troubled me, and that 
was to be going home without money, after such 
a long stay in a new country. For every man thinks 
that fortunes are more easily made in other lands 
than his own, and I knew that people would expect 
me to be in possession of ranches, flourishing towns 
and gold mines; and I felt much shame in having 
to admit that I had returned poorer than ever. Had 
it not been for the money saved during my absence, 
which had not been convenient for use, this thought 
had been likely to prevent my return for some years 
longer, perhaps for my whole life. On the tenth 
day we were passing Ireland, on which I gazed with 
deep feeling, taking her to my heart as a sister isle, 
knowing at the same time that her heart was her 
distressful own. When I reached Liverpool, and 
the cattle had gone ashore, I received my pay, and, 
slipping away from the other cattlemen, went alone 
up town, made a few purchases in the way of clothes, 
and arrived at the railway station with three shillings 
and a few coppers over my fare. With this insig- 
nificant amount, the result of five years in a rich 

[165] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

country, and something like one hundred and twenty 
pounds standing to my account, I arrived that even- 
ing at my native town. 

Here I wandered lost for several hours, making 
enquiries for my people, who, during my stay abroad, 
had moved from the place I knew. I had just made 
up my mind to seek a favourite aunt of mine, who, 
previous to my leaving England, had been a number 
of years in one house, and did not then seem likely 
to leave, when a strange woman in the street where I 
was making enquiries, recognised me by my like- 
ness to mother, and at once directed me to her place. 
I knocked on the door and mother, who always was 
and is full of premonitions, and is very superstitious 
in the way of signs and dreams, opened the door 
at once, knew who I was in the dark, though we 
could not see much of each other's form or face, 
and, to my surprise, called me by name. "That's 
me, mother," I said. "Yes," she answered, "I 
thought it was your knock," just as though I had 
only been out for an evening's stroll. She said in 
the course of the evening, that they had all given 
me up for dead, except herself, and that she had 
also, three years before, given up all hopes of seeing 
me again, having had a dream wherein she saw me 
beat about the head and lying bloody at the feet of 
strangers. She mentioned the year, and even the 
month of this year, and a little consideration on my 
part placed its date with that of the outrage at 

[166] 



Home 

New Orleans, but I did not then trouble her with 
an account of this. 

When I was very small an aunt took me to live 
with her for a couple or more months in a small 
town in Gloucestershire, a county in which mother 
had never been. But she had a dream in which 
she saw me leaving the house with my uncle's 
dinner, and that I had to follow the canal bank to 
his works. She saw me returning that same way, 
and, beginning to play near the water, fall in head 
first, she, in her dream, just reaching the spot in 
time to save me. Early the following morning, 
after this dream, mother came by train to this vil- 
lage, walked the canal bank to my aunt's house, 
without enquiring its whereabouts, and demanded 
her son before he was drowned. There was certainly 
a possibility of this happening, for I was very small 
at that time, and the canal was deep. She had 
never before been in this place, but the locality 
seemed to be well-known to her as it was seen in her 
sleep. 



[167] 



CHAPTER XVIII 

OFF AGAIN 

OF course at this homecoming I vowed that I 
would never again leave my native town. 
True, I found great difficulty in sleeping on 
a soft bed, and lay awake several hours through the 
night, tossing and turning from one side to another. 
The food itself did not seem so palatable coming 
out of clean pots and shining ovens, as that which 
was cooked in close contact with the embers, and 
in the smoke and blaze of a camp fire. The un- 
plucked chicken, covered with a thick crust of mud 
and baked under a pile of hot ashes, after which 
the hard crust could be broken to show the chicken 
inside as clean as a new born babe, with all its 
feathers and down stuck hard in the mud — this 
meat to me was far more tasty than that one at 
home, that was plucked and gutted with care, and 
roasted or baked to a supposed nicety. This food 
of civilisation certainly seemed to suffer from a 
lack of good wholesome dirt, and I should like to 
have had my own wood fire at the end of the back- 
yard, were it not for shame. 

[168] 



Off Again 

For several weeks I walked the streets, renewing 
old acquaintance, accosted here and there by my 
old school-mates. Most of them were married, 
but married or single, they all seemed to be poor 
and unsuccessful. I began to drink immoderately 
at this time, meeting one and the other, and very 
soon began to realise that my hundred and twenty 
pounds were going at the rate of a sovereign a day. 
Scarcely had I been home one month, when, to 
escape from so much drink, I made a trip to Bor- 
deaux, on one of the local steamers. But it was 
of no use : for I saw the time coming when I would 
again be without prospects. I had not worked at 
my trade since leaving Bristol, six years before, 
and had no intention of doing so again. The fever 
of restlessness that had governed me in the past, 
broke out afresh, and after two months of this idle 
life, I suddenly made a pretence of being filled with 
a desire for business, saying it was my intention to 
open a bookshop in London, and as soon as possible, 
which I have often had thoughts of doing. With 
this end in view, I drew the remainder of my money, 
which in two months had dwindled by a half, 
divided a few pounds among the family, and took 
train for London. "Yes," I repeated to myself, 
several times on this journey. "I will open 
a bookshop and settle down to a quiet life of 
study, for which there will be ample time during 
the intervals of business." In London I saw a 

[169] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

number of vacant shops that would have answered 
the purpose, but unfortunately, I had not the least 
notion of how or where to obtain books, the greater 
part of which were to be second-hand. If, when on 
this quest, I could have bought a bookshop ready 
fitted and filled, no doubt I would have closed with 
the offer at once, and settled quietly down. Not 
seeing any way out of this difficulty, I continued 
my rambles through the city, day after day, invari- 
ably visiting the theatre at night. This happened 
for over a week, and the money was still going out 
and none coming in, and poverty never appeared 
worse to me than at that time. 

One afternoon, when passing through Trafalgar 
Square, I bought an early edition of an evening 
paper, and the first paragraph that met my eye 
had this very attractive heading — "A Land of 
Gold." It was a description of the Klondyke, and 
a glowing account of the many good fortunes that 
daily fell to the lot of hardy adventurers. It would 
cost me sixty pounds, or more, to travel to that 
remote part of the world, and forty-four pounds 
were all I now possessed. This thought did not for 
long discourage me from making the attempt. I 
knew that I could beat my way across the Canadian 
continent, without using a cent for travelling, and 
I could save these few pounds for food, and cases 
in which payment would be absolutely necessary, 

[170] 



Off Again 

when forced to travel on foot, at the other end of 
Canada. 

That night I exchanged thirty pounds for their 
equivalent in paper dollars, placing the latter in 
a belt which I wore next to my skin, determined 
that this money should not see the light until my 
journey was nearly done. 

It v/as now the month of March, and the naviga- 
tion of the St. Lawrence had not yet opened, so 
that I would be compelled to beat my way from 
Halifax, or St. John's, to Montreal, which would not 
be necessary later in the Spring, when the latter port 
would be the destination of all emigrant ships. I 
was very happy at this time, with these prospects 
in view, which were really too bright to decoy any 
man who had an average amount of common-sense. 
My conception of that wonderful land, for all my 
travels, was childish in the extreme. I thought 
the rocks were of solid gold, which so dazzled the 
sun that he could not concentrate his glance on any 
particular part, and that his eye went swimming 
all day in a haze. I pictured men in possession of 
caves sitting helpless in the midst of accumulated 
nuggets, puzzled as to how to convey all this wealth 
to the marts of civilisation. What I wanted with 
all these riches I cannot say, for it was never a 
desire of mine to possess jewellery, fine raiment, 
yachts, castles or horses: all I desired was a small 

[171] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

house of my own, and leisure for study. In fact 
I made up my mind not to waste time in hoarding 
more wealth than would be necessary to these 
small comforts, but to return home satisfied with 
a sum not exceeding two thousand pounds, the 
interest from which would, I thought, be ample for 
any student who remained true to his aims, and 
was sincere in his love for literature. 

In this month of March, the first day in the second 
week, I left Euston Station at midnight, and arrived 
cold and shaking in Liverpool, early the next morn- 
ing. On making enquiries, I learnt that a ship was 
leaving for St. John's on the following Wednesday, 
from which place emigrants must needs go by train 
to Quebec or Montreal, owing to the ice-bound 
condition of the river. I decided on making St. 
John's my destination, from which port I would 
beat my way towards the west, going easy at first, 
and faster as the spring of the year advanced. 

The accommodation for steerage passengers on 
this ship was abominable, and their comfort seemed 
to be not in the least considered. This was owing 
to the small number of English speaking people that 
were travelling as steerage passengers, and the 
disgusting, filthy habits of the great majority, who 
were a low class of Jews and peasantry from the 
interior of Russia. None of the ship's crews could 
be expected to treat these people as one of them- 
selves, seeing them sit to eat in the filth of their 

[172] 



Off Again 

skin and fur clothes, without the least thought of 
washing; and again, hiding food in their bed clothes, 
making the cabin too foul to sleep in. After seeing 
the first meal fought for, and scrambled for on the 
steerage floor, where it had fallen, we Englishmen, 
five in number, took possession of a small table to 
ourselves, only allowing one other, a Frenchman, 
to sit with us. This did not succeed without some 
protest. On the second day out, when we went 
below for our mid-day meal, we found the table to 
be already occupied by these people, who maintained 
our seats, looking defiantly at us to show that they 
had taken no accidental possession of the same. 
It was owing to these defiant looks that we deter- 
mined to re-possess this table. "Stick close to- 
gether," said a young Englishman, who was a black- 
smith, with the accredited brawny arms. Saying 
which he caught one of the usurpers in his arms, 
and with great force threw him in the midst of 
his people, knocking several of them down. There 
was great commotion at this. Two hundred of 
these haters of soap and water began to jabber and 
wildly gesticulate, and no doubt every foul word 
in that unknown tongue was used against us. In- 
stead of seating ourselves at once at the table, 
which was now unoccupied, we stood in our small 
body waiting with a quiet determination which 
did not seem at all to their relish. This attitude 
conquered them; and, as none of us were quarrel- 

[173], 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

some, and did not again in any way interfere with 
them, either on deck or below, the trip was ended 
without any further trouble. 

So many of these aliens were landing in Canada 
at this time, that when I approached the Custom 
House officers, one of them, judging by my features 
and complexion, which were not much unlike those 
of a native of the south, addressed me in an un- 
known tongue. I looked at him in surprise, which 
made him repeat his question, probably in another 
tongue, equally unknown. Being rather incensed 
at this, and flushing indignantly at this tone to a 
dog, I lost no time in answering him according to 
Billingsgate. "Ho, hoi" he laughed, "so you are 
a blooming cockney, and so am I. Why didn't you 
say so at once'?" 

The blacksmith had booked through to Quebec, 
and would take train to that place before morning. 
Three other Englishmen had booked through to 
Winnipeg, and would travel with him by the same 
train. The other Englishman, a carpenter by trade, 
had relatives in Montreal, and, having only a couple 
of dollars in his possession, was willing to take in- 
structions from me how to get there. I promised to 
get this man to Montreal in three or four days, 
providing he did not at any time question my actions. 
He kept his promise and I kept mine, for on the 
fourth day after landing, I wished him good-bye 
outside his sister's house, which he had had some 

[174] 



Off Again 

difficulty in finding. I was now alone, and seeking 
a companion for my journey west. 

Now, once upon a time, there lived a man known 
by the name of Joe Beef, who kept a saloon in 
Montreal, supplying his customers with a good free 
lunch all day, and a hot beef stew being the mid- 
day dish. There was not a tramp throughout the 
length and breadth of the North American Con- 
tinent, who had not heard of this and a goodly 
number had at one time or another patronised his 
establishment. Often had I heard of this famous 
hostelry for the poor and needy, and the flavour of 
its stew discussed by old travellers in the far States 
of the South. When I thought of this, I knew that 
a companion for any part of America could most 
certainly be found on this man's premises, and I 
would there hear much valuable information as to 
the road I was about to travel. So I went strolling 
along quietly, intending to wait until I met some 
needy looking individual before I made enquiries. 
Now, whenever Joe Beef's name had been mentioned 
it had invariably led to the mention of French Marie, 
and the name of the latter as invariably introduced 
the name of Joe Beef, for these two establishments 
seemed to be patronised by the same class. These 
names were well-known to me, for, as I have said, 
their fame was abroad throughout America. 

I was strolling along with these thoughts, when 
I met the man of my desire, leaning lazily against 

[175] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

a post. Not wishing to accost him outright, and 
yet eager for his conversation, I stood beside him 
lighting my pipe, striking several matches for this 
purpose and failing, owing to the wind blowing in 
small gusts. Seeing my dilemma, the man quickly 
produced matches of his own, and striking one, 
held it lighted between the palms of his hands, 
leaving just enough space for the bowl of my pipe 
to enter. For this I thanked him, and secondly, 
invited him to a drink, asking him where we should 
go, being in hopes he would mention Joe Beef. 
"Well," he answered, pointing to the opposite 
corner, "the nearest place is French Marie's," 
We entered that place and, in the course of con- 
versation, I told him how I had beat my way from 
state to state, but that this was my first experience 
in Canada. "The United States," said this man 
sagely, "are nearly played out, and of late years 
there are far too many travellers there. You will 
find the Canadian roads better to beat, and the 
people's hearts easier to impress, for they are not 
overrun. When did you get here*?" Knowing that 
this man was under the impression that I had just 
beat my way into Canada from the States, and 
not willing to undeceive him, I answered quickly 
"This morning," and for a time changed the con- 
versation into a praise of the beer. "Where are 
you going to sleep*?" he asked. "Meet me here 
in half an hour, after I have begged the price of my 

[176] 



Off Again 

bed, and a drink or two — and we will both go to 
Joe Beef's, where I have been for this last week." 
Not wishing to lose sight of this man, I told him 
that my pocket could maintain the two of us until 
the next day. "All right," said he, appearing 
much relieved, "we will go at once and settle for 
our beds, and come out for an hour or so this 
evening." Leaving French Marie's we walked be- 
side the river for some distance, when my companion 
halted before a building, which I knew must be 
Joe Beef's, having just seen two seedy looking 
travellers entering. We followed, and to my sur- 
prise, I saw it was a rather clean looking restaurant 
with several long tables, with seats and a long bar 
on which the food was served. But what surprised 
me most was to see a number of Salvation Army 
men and officers in charge of this place. Without 
saying a word to my companion, I took a seat at 
one of the tables, to order a beef stew, asking him 
what he would have, and, for his sake, the order was 
doubled. "When Joe Beef kept this place," whis- 
pered my companion, "he was a true friend to trav- 
ellers, but you don't get much out of these people 
except you pay for it I" Although I winked at him, 
as though the same thoughts were mine, I noticed 
that the meals were well worth what was charged 
for them, and, in after days, I often compared this 
place favourably with similar institutions in London, 
that were under the same management, and where 
men did not get the worth of their money. 

[177] 



CHAPTER XIX 

A VOICE IN THE DARK 

AT this place I remained several weeks, watch- 
ing the smiling Spring, which had already 
taken possession of the air and made the 
skies blue — unloosing the icy fingers of Winter, 
which still held the earth down under a thick cover 
of snow. What a glorious time of the year is this I 
With the warm sun travelling through serene skies, 
the air clear and fresh above you, which instils new 
blood in the body, making one defiantly tramp the 
earth, kicking the snows aside in the scorn of action. 
The cheeks glow with health, the lips smile, and there 
is no careworn face seen, save they come out of the 
house of sickness o( death. And that lean spectre, 
called Hunger, has never been known to appear in 
these parts. If it was for one moment supposed 
that such a spectre possessed a house in this country, 
kind hearts would at once storm the place with such 
an abundance of good things that the spectre's 
victim would need to exert great care and power of 
will, if he would not succumb to an overloaded 
stomach. This spectre is often seen in the over- 

[178] 



A Voice in the Dark 

crowded cities of Europe, and one of its favourite 
haunts is the Thames Embankment, in front of the 
fine hotels where ambassadors and millionaires 
dine sumptuously. Where they sit or stand at 
their windows watching the many lights of the city, 
and to see the moon dipping her silver pitcher in 
the dark river, and they swear, by Jove! it is 
worth seeing. But they cannot see this spectre of 
Hunger, moving slowly, and sometimes painfully, 
from shadow to shadow, shivering and anxious for 
the sun, for they have no other fire to sit before, 
to make their dreams of the past pleasant. 

I remained three weeks in this inexpensive hotel, 
and decided to travel on the following Monday, 
although the snow was still deep in Montreal, and 
would be yet deeper in the country. I had a small 
room for sleeping purposes, at a cost of fifteen cents 
per night. There were several others of the same 
kind, each divided one from the other by a thin 
wooden partition, which was high enough for 
privacy, but did not prevent curious lodgers from 
standing tip toe on their beds, and peering into 
another's room. Going to bed early on Sunday 
night, previous to continuing my journey on the 
following day, I was somewhat startled on entering 
my room, to hear a gentle rap on the partition 
which divided my room from the next. "Hallo!" 
I cried, "what do you want'?" The man's wants, 
it seemed, were private, for he seemed frightened 

[179] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

into silence at this loud tone of demand, which 
would most certainly draw the attention of others. 
At last he cleared his throat by a forced fit of 
coughing, and then whispered, in a low distinct 
voice — "I want a match, if you can oblige me with 
one." Of course, smoking was not allowed in the 
bed-rooms, but in this respect we were nearly all 
breakers of the law. Taking a few matches from 
my pocket, I threw them over the partition, and . 
heard him feeling in the semi-darkness, after hearing 
the sound of them falling. Then he gently struck 
one, and, by its light, gathered in the others. In 
a moment or two he addressed me in his natural 
voice, and, to my surprise, it sounded familiar, 
and filled me with curiosity to see this man's face. 
I encouraged him to talk — which he seemed deter- 
mined to do — thinking a word might reveal him to 
me, and the circumstances under which we had met. 
His voice in the dark puzzled me, and I could not 
for my life locate it. A hundred scenes passed 
through my memory, some of them containing a 
number of characters. In my fancy I made them 
all speak to me, before dismissing them again to 
the dim regions from which they had been sum- 
moned, but not one of their voices corresponded 
with this voice heard in the dark. Above this 
voice I placed thin and thick moustaches, black, 
grey, brown, red, and white; under this voice I 
put heavy and light beards of various hues, and 

[180] 



A Voice in the Dark 

still, out of all my material, failed to make a familiar 
face. Still sending Memory forth in quest of the 
owner of this voice, and she, poor thing I bringing 
forward smiling men and stern men, thin men and 
fat men, short men and tall men, tame men and 
wild men, hairy men and bald men, dark men and 
fair men — until she became so confused as to bring 
back the same people the second time; still sending 
her forth on this vain quest, I fell asleep. 

It was a dreamless sleep; no sound broke its 
stillness, and no face looked into its depths; and, 
when I awoke the next morning, this voice seemed 
to be already in possession of my thoughts. I lay 
awake for about ten minutes, and was just on the 
point of rising, thinking the man had left his cham- 
ber, when I heard a stir coming from that direction. 
He was now dressing. Following his example, 
but with more haste, so as to be the first ready, 
I waited the unbolting of his door, so that I might 
meet this man face to face. I unbolted my own 
door, and opened it when I was but half dressed, 
but there was no necessity for doing this, for my 
arms were in the sleeves of my coat when his bolt 
was slipped back, and we simultaneously appeared, 
at the same time wishing each other good morning. 
I recognised this man without difficulty, but ap- 
parently had the advantage of him. To make no 
mistake, I looked at his right hand, and saw the 
two fingers missing, knowing him for a certainty 

[i8i] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

to be Three Fingered Jack, who had been a cattle- 
man from Montreal, whom I had met in Glasgow 
when I had gone there from Baltimore, three years 
previous to this. On that occasion I had been in 
this man's company for only half an hour, and 
since that time had heard thousands of voices, but 
was still positive that I had heard this voice before. 

We stood side by side washing, and preparing for 
breakfast, and, although I remained a stranger to 
him, as far as former acquaintance was concerned, 
I mentioned to him in confidence that I was going 
west that very morning, after breakfast. "So 
was I," he said, "as far as Winnipeg, but thought 
to wait until some of this snow cleared. Anyhow, 
as a day or two makes little difference, we will, if 
you are agreeable, start together this morning. 
I know the country well," he continued, "between 
Montreal and Winnipeg, having travelled it a 
number of times, and, I promise you, nothing shall 
be wanting on the way." 

This man had lost his two fingers at work in the 
cotton mills, some ten years before, and ever since 
then had been living in idleness, with the exception 
of two or three trips he had made as a cattleman. 
Certainly he lived well on the kindness of these 
people, as any able bodied man might do in 
this country, without being in any way afflicted. 
Though he was going to Winnipeg, he was in no 
hurry, had no object in view, and had not the least 

[182] 



A Voice in the Dark 

idea of where that town would lead him, and he 
soon tired of one place. 

Three Fingered Jack was a slow traveller for, as 
he with some emotion said — "It broke his heart 
to hurry and pass through good towns whose in- 
habitants were all the happier for being called on 
by needy men." This slow travelling suited me 
for the time being, for we were having another fall 
of snow, and I half regretted having left Montreal, 
although, day after day I was certainly getting a 
little nearer to the gold of Klondyke. But I deter- 
mined to shake off this slow companion on the first 
approach of fine weather. 

We loafed all day in the different railway stations, 
in each of which was kept a warm comfortable room 
for the convenience of passengers. Although we 
were passengers of another sort, and stole rides on 
the trains without a fraction of payment to the 
company, we boldly made ourselves at home in 
these places, being mistaken for respectable travel- 
lers, who were enjoying the comforts for which we 
paid. Sometimes a station master would look 
hard on us, suspecting us for what we were, but he 
was very diffident about risking a question, however 
much he was displeased at seeing us in comfortable 
possession of the seats nearest to the stoves. To- 
wards evening we made application for lodgings at 
the local jail, at which place we would be accom- 
modated until the following morning. I was now 

[183] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

without money, with the exception of that which 
was concealed and reserved for the most hazardous 
part of the journey, which would be its western 
end. Now, in all these jails we were searched and 
examined before being admitted for a night's shel- 
ter, but often in a very indifferent manner. One 
night we arrived at a small town where a double 
hanging was to take place in the yard of the jail 
early the next morning. A woman, it seems, had 
called on her lover to assist in the murder of her 
husband, which had been brutally done with an 
axe, for which crime both had been pronounced 
guilty and condemned to die. Thousands of people 
had flocked in from the neighbouring country, 
which in this province of Ontario was thickly settled, 
and a large number of plain clothes detectives had 
been dispatched from the cities, there being sup- 
posed some attempt might be made at rescue, 
owing to one of the condemned being a woman. 
We arrived at this town early in the afternoon, and 
were surprised at the unusual bustle and the many 
groups of people assembled in the main thorough- 
fares. Thinking the town contained, or expected, 
some attraction in the way of a circus or menagerie, 
we expressed little curiosity, but returned at once 
to the railway station, intending to possess its most 
comfortable seats against all comers, until the ap- 
proach of darkness, when we would then make 
application at the jail for our night's accommoda- 

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a 



A Voice in the Dark 

tion. When this time came, we marched straight 
to the jail, and boldly hammered its door for ad- 
mittance. It was at once answered by a police 
officer, to whom we explained our wants, and he, 
without much ado, invited us indoors. Expecting 
the usual questions, and being prepared with the 
usual answers — expecting the usual indifferent 
search, and having pipe, tobacco and matches artfully 
concealed in our stockings — we were somewhat taken 
by surprise to find a large number of officers, who 
all seemed to show an uncommon interest in our 
appearance^ The officer, who was examining us 
previous to making us comfortable for the night, 
had finished this part of the business to his own 
satisfaction, when one of these detectives stepped 
forward, and said — "We cannot admit strangers 
to the jail on the present occasion, so that you had 
better make them out an order for the hotel." This 
order was then given to us, and we immediately left 
the jail; and it was then, curious to know the rea- 
son for this action, that we soon made ourselves ac- 
quainted with the true facts of the case. When 
we arrived at the hotel, we were informed that every 
bed had been taken since morning, and that, as it 
was, a number of men would be compelled to sit 
all night dozing in their chairs, and it was with this 
information that we returned to the jail. For the 
second time we were admitted, and were advised to 
walk to the next town. This, Three Fingered Jack 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

absolutely refused to do, saying that his feet were 
too blistered and sore to carry him another hundred 
yards. All these detectives then got together, and, 
after a rather lengthy consultation, one of them 
came forward and, after plying us with a number 
of questions, proceeded to examine our clothes, and 
that so thoroughly that I feared for the result. At 
the beginning of the search, I gave him my razor, 
a small penknife, my pocket-handkerchief and a 
comb, but he was not satisfied until his hands were 
down in my stockings, and bringing up first my pipe, 
then my tobacco, and lastly the matches. What 
worried me most was the belt next to my body, which 
contained my money. I had not much fear of Three 
Fingered Jack, when confronting each other openly, 
though he was a tall active man, but had he known 
of these dollars, I had not dared in his presence to 
have closed my eyes, believing that he would have 
battered out my brains with a stone, wooden stake 
or iron bar, so that he might possess himself of this 
amount. This detective certainly discovered the 
belt, and felt it carefully, but the money being in 
paper, and no coin or hard substance being therein, 
he apparently was none the wiser for its contents. 
At last this severe examination was at an end, and 
we were both led through an iron corridor and placed 
in a cell, the door of which was carefully locked. I 
don't believe we slept one moment during that night 
but what we were overlooked by a pair, or several 

[186] 



A Voice in the Dark 

pairs of shrewd eyes. They could not believe but 
that we were other to what we pretended, and had 
come there with designs to thwart the ends of justice. 
Next morning our things were returned to us, and we 
were turned adrift at a cold hour that was far earlier 
than on ordinary occasions. 

The snow was still deep and the mornings and 
evenings cold when, a week after this, we reached 
Ottawa. This slow travelling was not at all to my 
liking, and I often persuaded my companion to 
make more haste towards Winnipeg. This he agreed 
to do; so the next morning we jumped a freight train, 
determined to hold it for the whole day. Unfortu- 
nately it was simply a local train, and being very 
slow, having to stop on the way at every insignificant 
little station, we left it, at a town called Renfrew, 
intending that night to beat a fast overland pas- 
senger train, which would convey us four or five 
hundred miles before daybreak. With this object 
we sat in the station's waiting-room until evening, 
and then, some twenty minutes before the train be- 
came due, we slipped out unobserved and took pos- 
session of an empty car, stationary some distance 
away, from which place we could see the train com- 
ing, and yet be unseen from the station's platform. 
This train would soon arrive, for passengers were 
already pacing the platform, the luggage was placed 
in readiness, and a number of curious people, having 
nothing else to do, had assembled here to see the 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

coming and going of the train. At last we heard 
its whistle, and, looking out, we saw the headlight in 
the distance, drawing nearer and nearer. It steamed 
into the station without making much noise, for the 
rails were slippery, there still being much ice and 
snow on the track. "Come," I said to Jack, "there 
is no time to lose;" and we quickly jumped out of 
the empty car. 

This fast passenger train carried a blind baggage 
car, which means that the end nearest to the engine 
was blind in having no door. Our object was to 
suddenly appear from a hiding place, darkness being 
favourable, and leap on the step of this car, and 
from that place to the platform; this being done 
when the train was in motion, knowing that the 
conductor, who was always on the watch for such 
doings, rarely stopped the train to put men off, even 
when Sure of their presence. If he saw us before 
the train started, he would certainly take means to 
prevent us from riding. When we had once taken 
possession of this car, no man could approach us 
until we reached the next stopping place, which 
would probably be fifty miles, or much more. At 
that place we would dismount, conceal ourselves, 
and, when it was again in motion, make another 
leap for our former place. Of course, the engineer 
and fireman could reach us, but these men were al- 
ways indifferent, and never interfered, their business 
being ahead instead of behind the engine. 

1 188] 



A Voice in the Dark 

The train whistled almost before we were ready, 
and pulled slowly out of the station. I allowed 
my companion the advantage of being the first to 
jump, owing to his maimed hand. The train was 
now going faster and faster, and we were forced to 
keep pace with it. Making a leap he caught the 
handle bar and sprang lightly on the step, after 
which my hand quickly took possession of this bar, 
and I ran with the train, prepared to follow his ex- 
ample. To my surprise, instead of at once taking 
his place on the platform, my companion stood 
thoughtlessly irresolute on the step, leaving me no 
room to make the attempt. But I still held to the 
bar, though the train was now going so fast that 
I found great difficulty in keeping step with it. I 
shouted to him to clear the step. This he proceeded 
to do, very deliberately, I thought. Taking a firmer 
grip on the bar, I jumped, but it was too late, for 
the train was now going at a rapid rate. My foot 
came short of the step, and I fell, and, still clinging 
to the handle bar, was dragged several yards before 
I relinquished my hold. And there I lay for sev- 
eral minutes, feeling a little shaken, whilst the train 
passed swiftly on into the darkness. 

Even then I did not know what had happened, 
for I attempted to stand, but found that something 
had happened to prevent me from doing this. Sit- 
ting down in an upright position, I then began to 
examine myself, and now found that the right foot 

[189] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

was severed from the ankle. This discovery did 
not shock me so much as the thoughts which quickly 
followed. For, as I could feel no pain, I did not 
know but what my body was in several parts, and 
I was not satisfied until I examined every portion 
of it. Seeing a man crossing the track, I shouted 
to him for assistance. He looked in one direction 
and another, not seeing me in the darkness, and was 
going his way when I shouted again. This time 
he looked full my way, but instead of coming nearer, 
he made one bound in the air, nearly fell, scrambled 
to his feet, and was off like the shot from a gun. 
This man was sought after for several weeks, by 
people curious to know who he was, but was never 
found, and no man came forward to say — 'T am 
he." Having failed to find this man, people at 
last began to think I was under a ghostly impres- 
sion. Probably that was the other man's impression, 
for who ever saw Pity make the same speed as 
Fear? 

Another man, after this, approached, who was 
a workman on the line, and at the sound of my voice 
he seemed to understand at once what had occurred. 
Coming forward quickly, he looked me over, went 
away, and in a minute or two returned with the 
assistance of several others to convey me to the sta- 
tion. A number of people were still there; so that 
when I was placed in the waiting room to bide the 
arrival of a doctor, I could see no other way of 

[190] 



A Voice in the Dark 

keeping a calm face before such a number of eyes 
than by taking out my pipe and smoking, an action 
which, I am told, caused much sensation in the local 
press. 



[191] 



CHAPTER XX 

HOSPITALITY 

I BORE this accident with an outward fortitude 
that was far from the true state of my feel- 
ings. The doctor, seeing the even develop- 
ment of my body, asked me if I was an athlete. 
Although I could scarcely claim to be one, I had 
been able, without any training, and at any time, to 
jump over a height of five feet; had also been a 
swimmer, and, when occasion offered, had donned 
the gloves. Thinking of my present helplessness 
caused me many a bitter moment, but I managed to 
impress all comers with a false indifference. 

What a kind-hearted race of people are these 
Canadians I Here was I, an entire stanger among 
them, and yet every hour people were making en- 
quiries, and interesting themselves on my behalf, 
bringing and sending books, grapes, bananas, and 
other delicacies for a sick man. When a second 
operation was deemed necessary, the leg to be am- 
putated at the knee, the whole town was concerned, 
and the doctors had to give strict injunctions not 
to admit such a number of kind hearted visitors. 
At this time I was so weak of body, that it was 

[192] 



Hospitality 

thought hopeless to expect recovery from this sec- 
ond operation. This was soon made apparent to 
me by the doctor's question, as to whether I had 
any message to send to my people, hinting that there 
was a slight possibility of dying under the chloro- 
form. A minister of the gospel was also there, and 
his sympathetic face certainly made the dying seem 
probable. Now, I have heard a great deal of 
dying men having a foresight of things to be, but, 
I confess, that I was never more calm in all my life 
than at this moment when death seemed so certain. 
I did not for one instant believe or expect that these 
eyes would again open to the light, after I had been 
in this low vital condition, deadened and darkened 
for over two hours, whilst my body was being cut 
and sawn like so much wood or stone. And yet I 
felt no terror of death. I had been taken in a sleigh 
from the station to the hospital, over a mile or more 
of snow ; and the one thought that worried me most, 
when I was supposed to be face to face with death, 
was whether the town lay north, south, east or west 
from the hospital, and this, I believe, was the last 
question I asked. After hearing an answer, I drew 
in the chloroform in long breaths, thinking to assist 
the doctors in their work. In spite of this, I have 
a faint recollection of struggling with all my might 
against its effects, previous to losing consciousness; 
but I was greatly surprised on being afterwards told 
that I had, when in that condition, used more foul 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

language in ten minutes' delirium than had probably 
been used in twenty-four hours by the whole popula- 
tion of Canada. It was explained to me that such 
language was not unusual in cases of this kind, which 
consoled me not a little, but I could not help won- 
dering if the matron had been present, and if she 
had confided in her daughter. The latter was a 
young girl of sixteen years, or thereabouts, and was 
so womanly and considerate that her mother could 
very well leave her in charge of the patients for the 
whole day, although this had not been necessary 
during my stay. 

For three days after this operation I hovered be- 
tween life and death, any breath expected to be 
my last. But in seven or eight days my vitality, 
which must be considered wonderful, returned in a 
small way, and I was then considered to be well out 
of danger. It was at this time that the kindness of 
these people touched me to the heart. The hospital 
was situated at the end of a long road, and all peo- 
ple, after they had passed the last house, which was 
some distance away, were then known to be visitors 
to the matron or one of her patients. On the ve- 
randah outside sat the matron's dog, and, long be- 
fore people were close at hand, he barked, and so 
prepared us for their coming. When it was known 
that I was convalescent, this dog was kept so busy 
barking that his sharp clear voice became hoarse 
with the exertion. They came single, they came in 

[194] 



Hospitality 

twos and threes; old people, young people and chil- 
dren; until it became necessary to give them a more 
formal reception, limiting each person or couple, as 
it might be, to a few minutes' conversation. On 
hearing that I was fond of reading, books were at 
once brought by their owners, or sent by others; 
some of which I had not the courage to read nor 
the heart to return; judging them wrongly perhaps 
by their titles of this character: — "Freddie's Friend," 
"Little Billie's Button," and "Sally's Sacrifice." 
With such good attendance within, and so much 
kindness from without, what wonder that I was now 
fit to return to England, five weeks after the acci- 
dent, after having undergone two serious operations ! 
My new friends in that distant land would persuade 
me to remain, assuring me of a comfortable living, 
but I decided to return to England as soon as possi- 
ble, little knowing what my experience would be in 
the years following. 

When the morning came for my departure, the 
matron, in a motherly way, put her two hands on 
my shoulders and kissed me, her eyes being full of 
tears. This, coming from a person whose business 
was to show no emotion, doing which would make 
her unfit for her position, made me forget the short 
laugh and the cold hand shake for which my mind 
had prepared itself, and I felt my voice gone, and 
my throat in the clutches of something new to my 
experience. I left without having the voice to say 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

good-bye. On my way I had to wish good-bye to 
every one I met, and when, at last, this ordeal was 
over, and I was in the train on my way back to 
Montreal, I felt that I was not yet strong enough 
to travel; my courage forsook me, and I sat pale 
and despondent, for I never expected to meet these 
people again, and they were true friends. 

Soon I reached Montreal. Only two months had 
elapsed, and what a difference now I Two months 
ago, and it was winter, snow was on the earth, and 
the air was cold; but I was then full limbed, full 
of vitality and good spirits, for summer like pros- 
pects golden and glorious possessed me night and 
day. It was summer now, the earth was dry and 
green, and the air warm, but winter was within me ; 
for I felt crushed and staggered on crutches to the 
danger of myself and the people on my way. I 
soon got over this unpleasant feeling, roused by the 
merry-makers aboard ship, the loudest and most 
persistent, strange to say, being a one-legged man, 
who defied all Neptune's attempts to make him walk 
unsteady. Seeing this man so merry, I knew that 
my sensitiveness would soon wear off; and, seeing 
him so active was a great encouragement. I was 
soon home again, having been away less than four 
months; but all the wildness had been taken out of 
me, and my adventures after this were not of my 
own seeking, but the result of circumstances. 

[196] 



CHAPTER XXI 

LONDON 

SITTING at home, thinking of future employ- 
ment, manual labour being now out of the 
question, it was then for the first time that 
I expressed gratitude for my old grandmother's 
legacy, which, on my home coming from the States 
had been reduced from ten shillings to eight shillings 
per week. In the past it had been sniffed at and 
scorned, being called several ill-natured names, such 
as "a week's tobacco," "a day's grub," or "an eve- 
ning's booze without cigars." I had been very bit- 
ter, on the reading of her will, that the property 
had not come into my hands, to sell or retain, spend 
or save; but a little common sense now told me 
that if such had been the case I would, at the present 
time, have been without either property or income, 
and had been so less than twelve months after her 
death. The old lady, no doubt, had noted my wild- 
ness, and to save me the temptation to squander 
my brother's share, who was incapable of taking 
charge of his own affairs, and whose share I must 
have ill managed, after the passing of my own she 
had wisely left this property to remain in the hands 

[197] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

of a trustee, which now turned out as lucky for my- 
self as for my brother. 

I was now more content with my lot, determined 
that as my body had failed, my brains should now 
have the chance they had longed for, when the spirit 
had been bullied into submission by the body's ac- 
tivity. 

It was now the middle of Summer, and daily I 
sat dreaming, reading, and occasionally writing in 
a leafy bower in the garden. I could now dispense 
with crutches, having just received from London 
an artificial limb, and on this was practising, taking 
short walks at night, with a success that was gratify- 
ing. A far different Klondyke had opened up be- 
fore my eyes, which corresponded with the dreams 
of my youth. I pictured myself returning home, 
not with gold nuggets from the far West, but with 
literary fame, wrested from no less a place than the 
mighty London. This secret was never divulged to 
my people, and, in the after years, this reticence 
saved them from many a pang of disappointment, 
and freed me from many an awkward question. De- 
termined to lose no time in the conquest of that 
city, which I expected would be surrendered to me 
some time within twelve months, I began, without 
wasting more time in dreams, to make preparations 
for this journey. Alas! how many greater men 
failed in a lifetime at this attempt, although they 
now stand triumphant in death, holding in their 

[198] 



London 

spiritual hands the freedom and keys of the whole 
world's cities ! 

With a cotton shirt, a pair of stockings and a hand- 
kerchief in a brown paper parcel, and the sum of 
two pounds in my pocket, after the expense of train 
fare, I started for London, filled to the brim with 
the aforesaid designs. My failure in the States, 
and again in Canada, had made me a little more 
chary with my confidence, but I was not in the least 
the less optimistic. My first dreams were, and are, 
my best. I scorn clothes and jewellery; I would 
rather take a free country walk, leaving the roads 
for the less trodden paths of the hills and the lanes, 
than ride in a yacht or a coach; I would rather see 
the moon in the ruins than the gaslight of an as- 
sembly room ; gluttony I despise, and drink is seldom 
taken except at the invitation of other eyes: then 
what, in the name of everything we know, would be 
to me the silver and gold of all Alaska I 

I arrived in London early the following morning, 
and at once made my way towards Lambeth. Early 
that night, being tired with the exertion of an un- 
usually long day, I went seeking for lodgings in 
Blackfriars Road, and, seeing several signs that 
claimed to accommodate working men with good 
clean beds at sixpence per night, entered one of these 
establishments, paid the amount demanded, and was 
then ushered into a long kitchen, preferring to sit 
and smoke for an hour before retiring for the night. 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

Some thirty or forty men were in this kitchen, but 
the British Workman had either not yet arrived, 
was out drinking his pint, or had gone early to bed. 
This was not by any means my first experience in 
England of lodging houses, for I had been forced to 
live in similar places on my visits in cattle ships 
from America; but I certainly did not like the look 
of this place, where no sign of authority was to be 
seen, and which seemed to be entirely left to the 
control of these noisy men. Some of these lodgers 
had been old soldiers, had just received their pen- 
sions — the accumulation of three months. A num- 
ber of them were bringing in cans of beer, and the 
kitchen was in an uproar. Many of them were too 
drunk to perform this task, but were sufficiently 
sober to sit awake and give money and orders to 
others, and there was no lack of willing hands to 
bring them what they required. I left the kitchen 
at once, determined to seek another place, without 
troubling the landlady to refund my money. As I 
left the kitchen, two drunken men began to fight; 
others interfered, and this fight threatened to be- 
come an all round affair. When I had reached the 
top of the stairs, feeling my way in the dark, I found 
the landlady standing at the office door. Seeing 
me, as I was about to pass her, she said, in a voice 
which was the worse for drink — "So you want to 
go to bed? Here, Jim, show this gentleman to 
his bed." Jim obeyed, a small, pale-faced child, 

[200] 



London 

whom I mechanically followed up two flights of 
stairs, which were better lighted than those leading 
to the kitchen, which was in the basement of the 
house. He then showed me into a room where 
there were a number of beds, and, pointing to one, 
said — "You are number forty-five," when he left the 
room. Many of the beds already contained sleep- 
ers. I sat down on the edge of mine, wondering 
if there would be any disturbance in the night, 
whether any of these men would take a fancy to 
my clothes, or in the dark were likely to rummage 
their contents. The man in the next bed coughed, 
and then, turning towards me, said gently — "The 
beds are good, I admit, but that is about all you 
can say of this house." Second voice, not far away: 
"You've come to a good house, you have, and yer 
don't know it." First voice: "If I hadn't been 
drunk last night and got chucked out of Rowton's, 
I wouldn't, on any account, be here." A third 
voice, distant, but loud and angry: "Give over, 
will yer : when are you coves going to sleep*? I ain't 
done any labour for three weeks, and now as I've 
got a chance at four in the momin', blow me if I 
ain't robbed of my slumber. Take care I don't set 
about yer at once, yer blooming lot of bleeders. If 
I come arter yer body, yer'U know it, and no mis- 
take about it, either." No more was said after this. 
I at once made up my mind to try Rowton House 
on the following day. That they had refused this 

[201] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

man a bed owing to his being drunk, and, more than 
likely, quarrelsome in drink, was a strong recom- 
mendation to me after my experience here, where it 
would be impossible to either read, write or think, 
or to even partake of my meals in comfort. 

The following morning, after having had break- 
fast at an eating house, I enquired for Rowton 
House, and when the first person I addressed asked 
which one I wanted, I answered him — "the nearest 
one." This proved to be in Newington Butts and, 
after receiving instructions, I proceeded accordingly, 
and was soon standing outside that place, where I 
was to remain for two years, without in the least im- 
pressing London. To my surprise, I found this 
house to be a fine large block of red buildings, with 
an imposing front, and a fine entrance, polished and 
clean; and, facing its many front windows, was 
an old church tower and clock, set in an old leafy 
churchyard that had stones for the dead and a num- 
ber of wooden seats for the living. 

On making an application for a bed, I learnt that 
this could not be granted until nine o'clock in the 
evening, but was courteously allowed the privilege 
of remaining indoors until that time. This place 
surprised me by its accommodation of dining rooms, 
library, sitting rooms, baths, lavatories, etc., all be- 
ing kept clean and in thorough good order by a 
large staff of men, its charge being sixpence per 
night. 

[202] 



London 

On making my way into the library, and seeing 
two large cases of books, one containing fiction, and 
the other being enriched by the poets, historians, 
essayists, with biography and miscellaneous litera- 
ture, and hearing how quiet this room was, in spite 
of the presence of over a hundred men, I at once 
made up my mind to pay a week's lodgings down, 
indifferent whether the sleeping accommodation was 
good or bad. This I did at nine o'clock, after 
which I sat sometimes reading the paper, and again 
watching the faces of this mixed assembly. Some 
of them were of refined appearance, with their silk 
hats, their frock coats, cuffs and collars, and spoke 
in voices subdued and gentle. Some of them were 
of such a prosperous appearance that no doubt I 
had already passed them in the street, thinking they 
were either merchants or managers of great concerns; 
and, more likely than not, the paper boys had fol- 
lowed on their heels, and the cabmen had persistently 
hailed them. 

If I wanted to devote my time to study, living 
on eight shillings per week, this was apparently a 
suitable place for my purpose. Being my own bar- 
ber, doing my own plain cooking, and living ab- 
stemiously, renouncing drink and the pleasures of 
theatres, and other indoor entertainments, and re- 
taining tobacco as my sole luxury — I saw no reason 
why this could not be done, at the same time making 
up my mind that it had to be done. 

[203] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

I had been here Httle more than a week, when I 
set to work in earnest, and the result of two months' 
diligence was a tragedy, written in blank verse, and 
which I called "The Robber." Never dreaming 
but what it would at once meet with success, owing 
to its being full of action — a very difficult thing to 
marry to verse, but which I thought was success- 
fully accomplished — I was somewhat taken aback 
to have it returned to me on the third day, with 
the manager's regret. Now it seemed that the Row- 
ton House had a bad name, owing to the great num- 
ber of criminals that were continually in the Police 
Courts giving that address. Some of these lodgers, 
for that very reason, had their correspondence ad- 
dressed to various small shops, where they were cus- 
tomers for tobacco, papers, and groceries. 

On having this tragedy returned, I, thinking of 
this, came to the conclusion that no respectable per- 
son would be likely to consider or respect any work, 
or application for the same, that emanated from a 
house of this name. I spoke to a gentleman with 
whom I had become acquainted, on this difficult 
subject, and he agreed with me, saying that such 
were the true facts of the case. "But," said he, 
after a thoughtful pause, "as your means are so 
limited, and the shopkeepers charge one penny for 
every letter they receive on a customer's behalf, 
would it not be as well to still have your correspond- 
ence addressed here, but in another way, of which 

[204] 



London 

you probably have not heard'? Give your address 
as nuniber one Churchyard Row, and, although peo- 
ple will not recognise this house under that name, 
yet the post office authorities will know it for its 
proper address." This I did, without further ques- 
tion, and "The Robber" was despatched on a sec- 
ond journey. Fourteen days after my robber re- 
turned to number one Churchyard Row. Bother- 
ing my head to account for this, I came to the con- 
clusion that my tragedy had not been read farther 
than the front page, and that a tragedy that was 
born and bred in such a place as Churchyard Row — 
the address being so appropriate to the nature of 
the work — was enough to make any man, who had 
the least sense of humour, condemn it with a laugh. 
My conceit, at this time, was foolish in the extreme, 
and yet I was near my thirtieth year. 

The next work was a very long poem, in which 
the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, and even 
the fishes of the sea, met in a forest glade to impeach 
man for his cruelty to them, and went on to describe 
their journey at midnight to the nearest town, and 
the vengeance they then took on the sleeping in- 
habitants. My confidence in this work being ac- 
cepted could not have been altogether whole-hearted, 
for the following reason: I made two copies of this 
poem, and posted them simultaneously to different 
publishers. I felt quite satisfied that one of these 
would be accepted, but when a whole week had 

[205] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

passed on, and I had received no communication 
from either publisher, I was then horrified to think 
that they both were giving the poem such a con- 
sideration that there was a probability that both of 
them would accept it, and that both publishers would 
call on me to make terms, perhaps at the very same 
hour. This thought so preyed on my mind that I 
did not feel at all easy until I had one of the copies 
returned; but it was a great disappointment to re- 
ceive the second copy on the following day. 

Thinking that short poems would stand a better 
prospect of being accepted, I set to work on a hun- 
dred sonnets, writing five, and sometimes six a day, 
but when this number had been accomplished and 
submitted, this work met with the same failure. 
After this I wrote another tragedy, a comedy, a vol- 
ume of humorous essays, and hundreds, I believe, 
of short poems. I was always writing at this time, 
either beginning or finishing a work, but, strange to 
say, none of this work was being sent out, but was 
safely treasured, under the impression that it would 
some day find its market. 

After having had twelve months' practice, in the 
last months of which no attempt had been made 
at publication, I decided to make one more effort, 
this time with a small volume of short poems. This 
was immediately sent to a well known publisher, 
who in a few days returned answer, offering to 
publish at the author's expense, the sum needed be- 

[206] 



London 

ing twenty-five pounds. This success completely 
turned my head. With all my heart I believed 
that there would not be the least difficulty in pro- 
curing money for such a grand purpose, and at once 
wrote to several well known philanthropists, writ- 
ing six letters. Two of them never murmured, and 
the other four set their secretaries to snap me up in 
a few words. Exasperated at this I wrote to several 
others, all my trouble being to no purpose. 

Now, when I first entered this lodging house, I 
had something like thirty shillings to the good, be- 
ing ahead of my income, and up to the present had 
no reason for spending this amount. Could I put 
this to some use'? My mind had several plans, and 
one in particular seemed good and feasible. I would 
write three or four short poems on a page, get them 
printed, and sell them from door to door. Two 
thousand of these sheets, sold at threepence per 
copy, would be twenty-five pounds, and, no doubt, 
I could sell quite a hundred of these copies a day, 
providing I went from house to house, from street 
to street, from early morning till late at night. With 
this object I lost no time in seeing a job printer, 
and was told that thirty-five shillings would be 
needed to defray expenses. This large amount dis- 
appointed me not a little, but I paid a deposit and 
went back to the house, where I lived and nearly 
starved in saving four shillings that were short, which 
was done in two weeks out of the sixteen shillings 

[207] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

that were to maintain me in food and lodgings for 
fourteen days. At last, after great privation and sac- 
rifice, it was done, and I received from the printer 
two thousand and some odd copies. Early the next 
morning I was to be seen in the suburbs of Lon- 
don, with my hands and pockets full of these copies, 
going from door to door. I mentioned to the in- 
habitants that I had had an offer from a publisher, 
and that he could not undertake to publish my work 
under twenty-five pounds. All these people did was 
to stare, none of them seeming to understand, and 
no one seemed inclined to ask questions. I had, I 
believe, visited the doors of some thirty houses or 
more, and had not sold one copy. Most of these 
people were poor, and some had become sufficiently 
interested to enquire the price of my copies, seem- 
ing inclined and willing to trade with me in a small 
way, but none of them seemed to be anxious to give 
threepence for a sheet of paper which they did not 
understand. At last I chanced upon a house that 
was much larger than the others, at which place a 
servant answered the door. I lost no time in re- 
lating to her the true facts of the case, and she was 
standing there silent and puzzled as to my mean- 
ing, when her mistress called to her from the top 
of the stairs — "Mary, who's there ^" On which the 
maiden gave answer in a halting voice — "Some man 
selling some paper." At this there was a pause, 
and then the same voice said, from the direction of 

[208] 



London 

the stairs — "Give him this penny, and tell him to 
go away," and, almost instantly, that copper coin 
fell at the bottom of the stairs, and came rolling 
rapidly towards us, as though aware of its mission. 
The girl handed me this penny, which I took me- 
chanically, at the same time persisting in her taking 
a copy to her mistress. That lady, hearing our 
further conversation, and perhaps, guessing its im- 
port, cried again, this time in a warning voice — 
"Mary, mind you don't take anything from him." 
This crushed the last hope, for I began to think that 
if this lady, who might be a woman of some cultiva- 
tion and rich, could only see and read what had 
been done, she might have at once, in her deep in- 
terest, merged the whole twenty-five pounds, at the 
same time befriending me for life. Alas! I have 
been unfortunate all my life in believing that there 
were a great number of rich people who were only 
too eager to come forward and help talent in dis- 
tress. 

I was so disgusted at receiving this single penny, 
and being so dismissed, that I at once put the sheets 
back in my pockets and returned to the city. How 
long would it take to get twenty-five pounds, at 
this rate •? What am I talking about ! Money was 
lost, not even this single copper was a gain ; for this 
penny-a-day experience had cost me three pennies 
in tram fare, without mention of a more expensive 
breakfast than I usually had. 

[209] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

When I got back to the house I started, with the 
fury of a madman, to burn the copies, and did not 
rest until they were all destroyed, taking care not 
to save one copy that would at any time in the future 
remind me of my folly. 

It was at this time that I came under the influence 
of Flanagan. That gentleman, seeing me often 
writing and apparently in deep thought, at once 
gave me credit for more wisdom than I possessed. 
He was a very illiterate man, having no knowledge 
of grammar, punctuation or spelling. The upshot 
of this acquaintance was that he informed me in 
confidence that he was the lawful heir to nearly 
half the county of Mayo, in Ireland; on which es- 
tate was a house like the King's palace. In ex- 
change for this confidence I told him that I was the 
author of a book of verse, which could not be pub- 
lished except the author defrayed expenses. On 
which Flanagan expressed much sympathy — more 
especially when I read him aloud a few lines ex- 
pressing my disapproval of landowners and rich 
tyrants — and promised sincerely to relieve me of all 
difficulty providing, of course, that he made good 
his claims to the estate. Flanagan then proposed 
that I should put some of his arguments in gram- 
matical form, which he would immediately forward 
to the proper authorities. This I began to do at 
once, and some of Flanagan's arguments were so 
strong that I am surprised at the present day at 

[210] 



London 

being a free man. I told one eminent statesman 
that he should retire and give place to a more hon- 
est man, and another that though he was born in 
Ireland and bore the name of an Irishman, yet he 
was a traitor, for his heart had ever been in Eng- 
land. Despite these powerful letters, the County 
Mayo never to my knowledge changed hands, and 
I was disappointed in my expectations, and Flana- 
gan grieved daily. At that time, I must confess, 
I thoroughly believed Flanagan, perhaps through 
being blinded by my own ambitions as an author. 
Even at the present time, though I have cut down 
the estate considerably, from half a county to half 
an acre, and have taken out quite a number of win- 
dows from the estate's residence — after doing this, 
I still believe that poor Flanagan was robbed of a 
cottage and garden by an avaricious landlord. 

This was at the time of the Boer War and Flana- 
gan's long dark beard and slouched hat gave him the 
exact appearance of one of those despised people. 
Therefore we seldom took a walk together but what 
we were stoned by boys in the street, and even grown 
up people passed insulting remarks. In fact every- 
where we went we were regarded with suspicion. 
Our clothes not being of the best, drew the atten- 
tion of attendants at museums and art galleries, and 
we, being swarthy and alien in appearance, never 
paused near a palace but what sentry and police 
watched our every movement. One morning we 

[211] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

were passing through Whitehall, what time a regi- 
ment of soldiers were being drilled and inspected 
by a gentleman in a silk hat. Now Flanagan was 
a man of great courage and never thought it neces- 
sary to whisper. Therefore a vein of savage satire^.,, 
broke in Flanagan's heart when he beheld a manP 
in a silk hat inspecting a troop of soldiers. "Seel" 
he cried, "there's a sight for the Boers." A num- 
ber of bystanders resented this remark, and there 
were loud murmurs of disapproval. On which 
Flanagan asked the following question : "Will the 
best man in the crowd step forward?" But no 
man seemed inclined to attempt Flanagan's chas- 
tisement, without being assisted. Although I did 
not entirely approve of him on this occasion, still, 
seeing that the words could not be recalled, I was 
quite prepared to be carried with him half dead on 
a stretcher to the nearest hospital; for I liked the 
man, and he certainly seemed to like me, since he 
always took his walks alone when I did not accom- 
pany him. 



[212] 



CHAPTER XXII 

THE ARK 

I HAD now been two years in London, at the 
same place, and though my literary efforts had 
not been very successful, I must confess that 
the conditions had not been the most unfavourable 
for study; and, no doubt, I had cultivated my mind 
not a little by the reading of standard works. The 
conditions of this place could not have been bet- 
tered by a person of such small means, and probably 
I would have continued living here until I met with 
some success, had I not known of one who would 
be thankful of a couple of shillings a week, and 
resolved to make a little sacrifice that would enable 
me to send them. To do this it was necessary to 
seek cheaper lodgings where, rent not being so high, 
this amount could be saved. I had heard something 
of such a place in Southwark which was under 
the control of the Salvation Army. A bed was to 
be had there for two shillings per week, therefore 
one and sixpence would be saved at the onset, as 
I was now paying three and sixpence. Following 
my first impulse, as usual, but with much regret at 
having to leave a place where I had not by any 
means been unhappy, I gathered up my few things 

[213] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

and left, and that night settled in Southwark Street. 

Speaking after six months' experience at the Sal- 
vation Army Lodging House, I am very sorry that 
I have nothing at all to say in its favour. Of course, 
it was well understood by the lodgers, whatever 
people on the outside thought, that no charity was 
dispensed on the premises. Certainly the food was 
cheap, but such food as was not fit for a human 
being. I do not know whether the place came un- 
der the control of the London County Council, being 
regarded as a charitable institution, or whether, in 
case of a surprise visit from its inspectors, beds were 
removed in the day: what I do know from experi- 
ence is this, that it was with difficulty that a man 
could find room between the beds to undress. A 
row of fifteen or twenty beds would be so close to- 
gether that they might as well be called one bed. 
Men were breathing and coughing in each other's 
faces and the stench of such a number of men in one 
room was abominable. I was fortunate in having a 
bed next to the wall, to which I could turn my face 
and escape the breath of the man in the next bed. 

The officers in charge were, according to my first 
opinion, hypocrites; which seemed to be verified some 
time after from Head Quarters, for both the Cap- 
tain and his Lieutenant were dismissed from the 
Army. However, the Captain was well liked by 
the lodgers, and I have often seen him assist them 
out of his own private purse. 

[214] 



The Ark 

As for the Lieutenant, he was very gentle and 
fervent in prayer, more so than any man I have ever 
heard, but in conversation he had not a civil word 
for any one, except, of course, his superior officer. 
He sometimes made his deceit so apparent that I 
have been forced to laugh out. When the Captain 
arrived at night, or in the morning — he was a mar- 
ried man and did not live on the premises — he would 
stand with his back to the restaurant bar, looking 
down the long room at the faces of his many lodgers. 
It was at such a time that when I have looked up 
from my meal, I have been surprised, and not a 
little startled, to see this Lieutenant's pale thin face 
looking down through a glass window, eager to see 
what his superior officer was doing. So engrossed 
would he be that he would entirely forget that he 
exposed his deceit to the eyes of a number of men 
who had their faces turned towards him. Some- 
times he would creep tiptoe to the kitchen door and 
peep in for an instant, and then creep back to the 
office. I have often wondered that the Captain 
never turned and surprised him in these doings, for 
there was not a lodger in the house that had not one 
time or another seen him perform them. 

On Sunday afternoons, these two, the Captain 
and his Lieutenant, would conduct a meeting; the 
latter commencing it with a short prayer, after which 
the former would preach a sermon which was, I 
must confess, often interesting, and invariably elo- 

[215] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

quent. In all my life I have never heard a more 
pathetic address and prayer than that which was 
delivered by this Captain, on one of these Sunday 
afternoons. It so chanced that in this place there 
lived a poor half demented lodger, who was known 
by the name of Horace, whose profession was that 
of a flower seller. Every night this man would 
dress and garland himself with his unsold flowers, 
and return home drunk to the Ark. Now, this man 
suddenly disappeared, and, at the same time, a man 
committed suicide from London Bridge, which was 
well known to be the haunt of the man Horace. 
Whereat the following Sunday our Captain preached 
a funeral oration, giving for our interest the few 
facts he had gleaned from the past life of the de- 
ceased, who, the Captain affirmed, had received a 
good education and had come of a respectable family. 
The Captain wept copiously, being overcome by 
his feelings, and the Lieutenant approved and en- 
couraged him by an unusual number of sighs and 
broken sobs. The meeting then ended with an ear- 
nest prayer for the soul of the drowned Horace. 
About six days after this meeting had taken place, 
there came to the Ark a man drivelling and laugh- 
ing idiotically, with wreaths and posies all over his 
person — no other than the lamented Horace. The 
Captain came out of his office, followed by his Lieu- 
tenant. The Captain looked at Horace with a mel- 
ancholy annoyance; the Lieutenant looked first at 

f2l6] 



The Ark 

his superior officer and, after receiving his expres- 
sion into his own face, turned it slowly on Horace. 
The Captain then turned slowly on his heels, at the 
same time shaking his head, and, without saying a 
word, returned to the office, while his subordinate 
followed him in every particular. Never, after this, 
did this Captain treat Horace as a living man, and 
all chaff and familiar conversation was at an end 
between them. How the Captain came to the be- 
lief that the drowned suicide was Horace, the flower 
seller, was very strange, for this man was known to 
mysteriously disappear several times in the year, he, 
invariably, like the drowned man he was supposed 
to be, coming to the surface on the seventh day, 
seven days being the extreme penalty of his simple 
and eccentric behaviour. 

There was no lack of strictness at this place; 
whether a man was ill or not, whether it rained, 
snowed or hailed, every lodger was compelled to 
quit the premises at ten o'clock in the morning, after 
which it would remain closed for cleaning purposes 
until one o'clock. And yet there was not a man 
in the house could keep himself clean. It was not 
thought necessary to close other establishments of 
this kind, that were not connected with the name 
of religion, which were kept cleaner without making 
the lodgers suffer any inconvenience. Why things 
should be carried on in this high handed fashion 
I cannot understand, seeing that there was not the 

[217] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

least charity doled out. Whatever good the Salva- 
tion Army did for the homeless and penniless in 
their shelters, they certainly did not cater well for 
these poor, but independent, fellows whose wages 
ranged from a shilling to eighteenpence a day — be- 
ing paper-men, sandwichmen, toy-sellers, etc., who 
receive nothing but what they paid for. 

I had been at this place something like four 
months, when I determined to make another attempt 
at publication. My plans at this time seemed to be 
very feasible, for I gave them a full half year for 
execution. I applied at the local police station for 
a pedlar's certificate, intending to stock myself with 
laces, pins, needles and buttons with which I would 
hawk the country from one end to the other. At 
the end of this time I would be some ten pounds in 
pocket, the result of not drawing my income, and 
would, no doubt, save between nine and ten shillings 
a week as a hawker. Being very impulsive, I pro- 
posed starting on this interesting business at once, 
but one idea — which could not for long be over- 
looked — brought me to a halt: my artificial leg would 
certainly not stand the strain of this enforced march 
from town to town on the country roads, that were 
so often rough and uneven. For even now it was 
creaking, and threatened at every step to break down. 
On mentioning these difficulties to a fellow lodger, 
he at once advised me to go to the Surgical Aid So- 
ciety for a wooden leg, of the common peg sort; 

[218] 



The Ark 

which, he was pleased to mention, would not only 
be more useful for such a knockabout life, but would 
not deceive people as to my true condition. This 
society was visited by me on the following day; at 
which place I was informed that fifteen subscription 
letters would be required for my purpose, and after 
paying sixpence for a subscription book, in which 
were the names and addresses of several thousand 
subscribers, I lost no time in buying stamps and sta- 
tionery. Eighteen letters were without loss of time 
written and posted to their destination. These 
eighteen succeeded in bringing in two subscription 
letters, several letters of regret from people who had 
already given theirs away; several of my letters were 
returned marked "not at home," and a number of 
them elicited no response. Twelve more letters were 
quickly despatched, with the result of one subscrip- 
tion letter. To be able to do this I was forced to use 
the small weekly allowance that I had been making. 
In six weeks I had written nearly a hundred 
letters and was still several letters short of my allot- 
ted number. I again consulted my fellow lodger, 
who had at first referred me to the Surgical Aid So- 
ciety, and his explanation was, undoubtedly, reason- 
able and true. He explained that not only was the 
time of the year unfavourable, it being summer, and 
most of the subscribers were away from home on 
their holidays — but, unfortunately, the South Afri- 
can war was still in progress, and numbers of sol- 

[219] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

diers were daily returning from the front in need 
of artificial assistance one way or another. Al- 
though I ruminated with some bitterness on the idea 
that I would almost pay in postage the value of 
that which I required, before it became mine, I still 
had enough common-sense to see that no one was 
actually to blame. Several letters were received, 
offering to assist me on certain conditions. One 
lady would assist on a clergyman's recommendation, 
and another subscriber would have no other than a 
Roman priest. I offered to get these ladies a Sal- 
vation Army Officer's recommendation, which, ap- 
parently, would not do, for our correspondence came 
to an end. One lady, who did not recognise the 
house of Salvation under the address of 96 South- 
wark Street, regretted that she had already given her 
letters away, but advised me to go to the Salvation 
Army, who would most certainly attend to my wants. 
I explained to this person that I was already at one 
of their places, and had been here over five months; 
and that I had not been seen drunk in the place, and 
that my behaviour had not, at any time, raised ob- 
jections, also that I was on the most friendly terms 
with the officer in charge; but that I could live here 
for many years to come, and no man would enquire 
my wants or offer to assist me. 

One afternoon, when I returned to the Ark, after 
having been out all day, I was surprised to hear 
from a lodger that two gentlemen had been there 

[220] 



The Ark 

that afternoon to see me. After which another 
lodger came forward with the same information, and 
still another, until I was filled with curiosity to 
know who those gentlemen could be. "What did 
they look like*?" I asked one. "Like solicitors," he 
answered. "What kind of looking men were they*?" 
I asked of another. "Very much like lawyers," he 
answered at once. "Don't forget to remember yer 
old pals," chimed in another, "when yer come into 
the property." First I examined my mother's side 
of the family, and then my father's, but could find 
no relative, near or distant, at home or abroad, whose 
death would be likely to befriend me. At last I 
went to the ofRce, but found this place closed, the 
Lieutenant being out walking, and the Captain not 
yet having arrived. Never in my life did I have 
such an excitable half hour as this. When I saw 
the Captain coming forward, smiling, with an en- 
velope in his hand, I went to meet him, and, taking 
the letter in my own hand, began to examine its 
outside. "Of course," said the Captain, "you know 
who it is from?" "Not the least idea," I said, "how 
should 1V\ and proceeded to open it. It was a 
short note, with a request that I should call on the 
Charity Organisation, between the hours of ten and 
eleven a. m. on the day following. The Captain 
went back to his office, and I sat down, thinking of 
what this would amount to. Again I decided to 
consult the Canadian, the lodger who had first men- 

[221] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

tioned to me the Surgical Aid Society. "As to that," 
said this man, "it's a wonder to me that you have 
not run foul of these people before now. My friend, 
who sells papers in the city, was continually med- 
dled and interfered with by these people, but they 
gave him no assistance, although they seemed cu- 
rious to know all about him." This information 
surprised me not a little, but I came to the conclu- 
sion that the Canadian's friend was addicted to drink 
and other bad habits, and was an undeserving case. 

The next morning I arose, lighthearted in antici- 
pation of hearing something to my good, and was 
leaving the house when I saw the Captain standing 
at the front door. Feeling some misgiving, I turned 
to this gentleman and asked him point blank — 
what was his opinion of the Charity Organisation. 
"Well," he replied slowly, "to give you my candid 
opinion — although I may be mistaken — the object 
of the Charity Organisation is not so much to give 
alms, as to prevent alms being wasted." How I 
remembered these words in the light of my after 
experience with these people! 

At ten o'clock punctually, I was at their office 
in the Borough Road, and was at once shown into 
a side room, where I sat waiting patiently, for an 
hour. At last a gentleman in black came forward, 
saying, very politely — "Mr. Davies, will you please 
come this way." I followed him up two or three 
flights of stairs, and we entered a quiet room on the 

[222] 



The Ark 

top floor. Seating himself at a table, and taking 
pencil and paper, he then asked me to be seated 
and began. "Mr. Davies," he said, "I have re- 
ceived a letter from a lady who has become inter- 
ested in your case, and wishes to better your con- 
ditions. So as to answer this lady, it is necessary 
to know something of yourself, for which reason I 
propose asking you a few questions, which, of course, 
you need not answer except you think proper." 
This he proceeded to do, at the same time making 
notes of my answers. After answering a dozen or 
more questions truthfully, dealing with particulars 
of my family, and my past life — he brought the 
case up to that time. "Surely," he said, "you do 
not live on eight shillings a week. I should have 
thought that to be impossible." "As for that," 
I answered, "not only has that sum been sufficient 
for myself, but I have been able to make another 
an allowance of two shillings a week, but have not 
been able to do so since I applied to the Surgical 
Aid Society." "Now tell me what is the matter 
with that leg*?" asked this gentleman. "I should 
have thought that it would last for another two 
years at least. Excuse me, did you get that through 
the Society?' "No," I said, "it cost me twelve 
pounds, ten shillings, when I could ill afford the 
money, but, unfortunately, I knew nothing then 
of the Surgical Aid Society." "The Society, no 
doubt, does a large amount of good," continued 

[223] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

this gentleman, "but I don't altogether agree with 
their methods. You have written quite a number 
of letters^" he asked; "and I don't suppose any 
of the subscribers helped you with the postage, 
sending you a trifle to defray expenses'?" At this 
point he made a long pause, and I began to tell 
him that all the help I had received was from a 
gentleman who, having no letters left to assist me 
with, had very considerately sent twelve stamps to 
help my correspondence. The Charity Organisa- 
tion showed much interest at this point of the con- 
versation, and said that he thought quite a number 
of subscribers would have done the same. "As I 
have already said," he continued, "I don't altogether 
agree in the methods of the Surgical Aid Society; 
their cases are maintained too long without result, 
and allows too good an opportunity for writing beg- 
ging letters." Not even now could I see the drift 
of this man's questions — that he suspected me of 
being an impostor, of writing begging letters. Yes, 
I, who was bitter at having to bear all this expense, 
and was grieved at having to withhold two shillings 
a week from one who was very poor, so that I might 
be enabled to do so. "How many letters do you 
now need^" he asked. "Two," I answered, "but 
I don't intend to be at any further expense in post- 
age; I will take in what letters I have already re- 
ceived, and explain to the Surgical Aid Society the 
difficulty I have had in trying to obtain the requisite 

[224] 



The Ark 

number." This ended our interview, and I went 
away satisfied that the Charity Organisation would 
come to my rescue in the near future. But I did 
not again hear from them for over two years, which 
will be explained in another chapter. How they 
answered the kind lady who had become interested 
in me, I cannot say, but it could not have been 
other than to my discredit. 

The day following this interview, three letters 
were at the office, all three coming by the first 
post. One of them contained a subscription letter, 
so that I now only lacked one of the required number. 
One of the other letters came from the Surgical Aid 
Society, saying that a subscriber had forwarded to 
them a letter to be entered to my account, and that 
if I would call at their office with the letters I then 
had, the Society would make up the number defi- 
cient. The required number was now made up, 
without having need to draw on the Society. I 
now took these letters to their office, and in a day 
or two received the article which had caused me so 
much bother in writing letter after letter, and such 
an expense in postage. By a sad irony, the worry 
and expense was by no means at an end, as I had 
expected. People were now returning from the 
continent, and other places where they had spent 
their summer holidays. Letters came to me daily 
from people returning home. Some of my own 
letters, which had been posted three, four, five and 

[225] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

six weeks before, were now being considered, Sev- 
eral subscription letters came to hand — too late 
for use. Others wrote asking if I was still in need 
of assistance. I was now at as great an expense as 
ever, returning these subscription letters with thanks ; 
and writing to others to tell them that I had now 
succeeded in obtaining the required number. Letters 
were still coming when I left the Ark for the coun- 
try; and, it was told me afterwards, that a goodly 
number had come, been kept for a number of days, 
and returned during my absence. 

I was more determined than ever to tramp the 
country until I was worth thirty pounds, for an 
offer had again been made by a publisher, during 
my stay at the Ark, and this offer was much the 
same as the other. Seeing that there was no other 
way of getting this amount than by hawking the 
country, I determined to set out as soon as possible. 
So, when my business with the Surgical Aid Society 
was at an end, I spent three or four shillings on 
laces, needles, pins, buttons, etc., and started with 
a light heart and not too heavy a load. The Cana- 
dian, who had had some experience in this kind of 
life, prophesied good results from it, adding that a 
man situated the same way as I was, need carry 
no other stock in trade than that which I had re- 
ceived from the Surgical Aid Society, and that suc- 
cess was assured, on that very account. 

[226] 



CHAPTER XXIII 

GRIDLING 

IT was a beautiful morning in September when 
I left the Ark with every prospect of fulfilling 
this mission. As I advanced towards the coun- 
try, mile after mile, the sounds of commerce dying 
low, and the human face becoming more rare, I lost 
for the time being my vision of the future, being 
filled with the peace of present objects. I noted 
with joy the first green field after the park, the first 
bird that differed from the sparrow, the first stile 
in the hedge after the carved gate, and the first 
footpath across the wild common that was neither 
of gravel nor ash. I had something like nine shill- 
ings in my pocket, and I felt that business was out 
of the question as long as any of this remained. 
Reaching St. Albans on the first night, I walked 
through that town, and, making a pillow of my pack, 
lay down on the wild common. It seemed as though 
extra bodies of stars had been drafted that night into 
the heavens to guard and honour the coming of age 
of a beautiful moon. And this fine scene kept me 
awake for two or three hours, in spite of tired 
limbs. This seemed to me a glorious life, as long 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

as summer lasted and one had money to buy food 
in towns and villages through which he passed. For 
three or four days I walked and idled, standing on 
culverts and watching the water burst from darkness 
into light; listening to the birds; or looking at a 
distant spire that was high enough, and no more, to 
show that a quiet town was lying there under a 
thousand trees. 

I reached Northampton, and it was in this town 
that I intended to start business on the following 
day, though I still had a few shillings left, having 
slept in the open air since leaving London. With 
this object I proceeded to examine my pack, with 
the intention of filling my pockets with the differ- 
ent wares, to draw them forth one or two at a time, 
as they would be needed. So, that night, previous 
to the great business that was to be transacted on 
the following day, I sought a quiet corner in the 
lodging house, and began to unroll my paper parcel. 
As I proceeded to do this, it seemed to me that the 
inner part of the parcel was damp, and then I re- 
membered the two or three heavy showers that we 
had on the second day of my travels. On a further 
examination I discovered, to my horror, that the 
goods were entirely unfit for sale; that the parcel 
had been so bent and misshapen one way and the 
other, during my night's repose, that the needles 
had cut through their rotten packets, and were stuck 
in the pin papers, and that a great number of pins 

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Gridling 

had concealed their whole bodies in die needle pack- 
ets, showing plainly the guilty tops of their heads. 
The laces were twisted and turned, and their tags 
were already rusted. This was a great blow to me, 
as there seemed nothing else to do but send home 
for the few shillings that had now become due. 
But on second thoughts I made up my mind to 
travel without stock of any kind, not doubting but 
what 1 would rise to the emergency after the last 
penny had been expended, and I was under the force 
of necessity. Thinking Northampton too large a 
town in which to starve, I determined to remain 
here until my funds were exhausted, when despera- 
tion would urge me to action. With this idea I 
took life very easily for a couple more days, even 
inviting poverty by being unusually extravagant, 
going to the extreme of buying milk for my tea. 
But when I became reduced to the last sixpence, I 
decided to make all speed to Birmingham, as the 
resources of that city, it being so much larger, would 
be a better place to serve my wants. 

Starting on this journey, without any more delay, 
I was soon going into the town of Rugby, tired, 
penniless, and hungry'. What was I to do? Some- 
thing had to be done, and that at once. I had to 
face the horrible truth that I was now on the verge 
of starvation. Whilst busy with these unpleasant 
thoughts, I heard a voice shout to me from the 
roadside, and, looking in that direction, saw a man 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

sitting in the grass, eating from a paper parcel, 
which was half spread before him. On going over 
to see what this man wanted, I found an apparently 
tall man and large in proportion, who was dressed 
in seedy looking clothes, which were torn and 
patched in a good many places. In fact, something 
seemed to have been gnawing night after night at 
the bottom of his trousers, taking advantage of him 
in his sleep, for these hung in tatters and rags just 
below the calves of his legs. The man had a frec- 
kled face, which was almost lost in an abundance of 
red hair, and his head was as thick with the same. 
What helped to make his appearance strange, and 
perhaps ridiculous, was a schoolboy's small cap to 
cover the crown of such a large head. "Have a 
mouthful of this," he said, inviting me to partake 
of some bread and meat. "It is dry eating, I must 
say, but, as we go into Rugby, we can wash it down 
with a pint or two of beer." I thanked him for his 
kindness, and, accepting his invitation, seated myself 
on the grass. "What's in your bundle," he asked, 
looking askance at a small brown paper parcel, 
which contained a clean shirt, socks and a hand- 
kerchief, "are you selling anything^" I explained 
to him that I was a licensed hawker, but had not 
yet been long enough at the business to make a suc- 
cess of it. "What," he cried with some surprise, 
"a one legged man not to be successful? I get all 
I want by just opening of my mouth," although he 

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Gridling 

added with some scorn, "I know that some people 
cannot beg unless they have something in their hands 
to sell. But if you travel with me, all you will 
have to do is to pick up the coppers." 

After I had finished eating, he proposed to set off 
immediately; and, as we walked leisurely along, I 
wondered how it was possible for a big healthy fel- 
low like this to be able to exist in any other man- 
ner than by selling. On coming to the first public 
house he politely invited me to enter, which I did, 
when he called for two pints of beer He then 
became communicative, telling me he was a gridler, 
and a good one too; which I understood to mean 
a grinder, although I had not seen tools of any 
description either in his hands or in his pockets. 
He paid for two or three pints of beer in quick 
succession, and, not having had much drink for a 
considerable time, I began to feel somewhat elated, 
and began to make a laughing joke of my circum- 
stances. "Now," said this man, "to business; for 
we must get the price of our beds and a little break- 
fast for the morning, not to mention the night's 
supper. All you have to do," he said again, "is 
to pick up the coppers as they come." Wondering 
what these words could mean, I followed him, on 
this pleasant afternoon, up several side streets, un- 
til we came to the end of one very long street, 
which had respectable looking houses on either side 
of the road. My strange companion walked sev- 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

eral yards down this street, and then came to a 
sudden halt in the middle of the road. "Now," said 
he, for the third or fourth time, "all you have to do 
is to pick up the coppers, I ask you to do no 
more; except," he added, grinning rather unpleas- 
antly, "except to see that we are not picked up 
by the coppers." His joke appeared simple enough, 
and I could not fail to understand it, but it was 
not at all to my relish. The last named coppers 
were police officers, who would be likely to take hold 
of us for illegally appropriating the copper coins of 
the realm. "Are you going to pick up the cop- 
pers^" he asked a little impatiently, seeing me stand- 
ing irresolute and undecided as to what to do. 
Scarcely knowing how to answer him, I said that 
if I saw any coppers he need have no fear but 
what I would pick them up. "All right, that's 
good," he said, at the same time moving several 
feet away from me. I stood still watching these 
mysterious movements, and thinking of the coppers, 
wondering from what source they would be supplied. 
He now turned his back, without more ado, and, 
setting his eyes on the front windows before him, 
began, to my amazement, to sing a well known 
hymn, singing it in the most horrible and lifeless 
voice I have ever heard. In spite of the drink, 
which had now taken effect, making my head swell 
with stupidity, I still felt an overwhelming shame 
at finding myself in this position. I stood irresolute, 

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Gridling 

not knowing whether to wait the result of this, 
or to leave him at once with short ceremony. But, 
whilst ruminating in this frame of mind, I heard a 
window open with a loud creak, saw the shaking of 
a fair hand, and then heard a copper coin fall on 
the hard earth within a yard of where I stood. 
Being penniless I was nothing loth to take possession 
of this coin, and had scarcely done so, when a front 
door opened on the other side of the street, and a 
fat florid old gentleman appeared and beckoned me 
across to him. Going immediately to this gentle- 
man, I received twopence and, after thanking him, 
joined my companion in the road. Now, as I be- 
long to a race of people that are ever prone to song, 
whether it be in a public house or a prayer meet- 
ing, it will not surprise many to know that ere long 
I was making strong attempts to sing bass to this 
man's miserable treble, and only ceased to do so 
when it became necessary to stoop and pick up the 
coppers, which continued to come in at the rate of 
two to the minute. The effect of my voice on my 
companion was immediately apparent. His limbs 
shook, his knees bent and knocked together, and his 
voice quivered and quavered with a strong emotion. 
He was now singing another well-known hymn, 
better known perhaps than the last; and what with 
his tall form bent double to half its height, and 
the wringing of his hands in despair — a poor wretch 
who was apparently broken both in body and spirit 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

— he was, at this particular stage, the most mis- 
erable looking mortal I have ever beheld. He was 
in this old man's broken attitude when, to my sur- 
prise, he suddenly straightened his great body, and 
gazed about one second down the street. After 
which he quickly turned on his heels, saying, in 
short peremptory tones — "Quick march," at the same 
time suiting the action to the words, in sharp mili- 
tary steps. What the people, in their different win- 
dows, and on their doors, thought of this change, I 
cannot say. I looked down the street, and then saw 
that a police officer had just turned its far corner, 
and was coming slowly in our direction. My com- 
panion waited for me at our end of the street, where 
I joined him as soon as possible. "It is getting 
harder every day for a poor man to get a living," 
he said, when I stood beside him. "Suppose you 
count the earnings," he said. "We work together 
well." On doing this, I found twenty pennies to 
be in my possession, and, at his suggestion, we there 
and then shared them alike. "Friend," he began, 
"before we commence again, let me give you a word 
or two of advice. First of all, you sing in too lusty 
a voice, as though you were well fed, and in good 
health. Secondly, you are in too much of a hurry to 
move on, and would get out of people's hearing 
before they have time to be affected. Try to sing 
in a weaker voice: draw out the easy low notes to 
a greater length, and cut the difficult high notes short, 

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Gridling 

as though you had spasms in the side. Your object 
is to save your voice as much as possible, indiffer- 
ent to the demands of music, or the spirit of the 
song. When we start in another street," he contin- 
ued, — but at this admonitory point I cut him short, 
telling him that I had had enough of — eh — gridling. 
"What, enough of chanting^" he cried in amaze. 
"Why, my dear fellow, it is the best thing on the 
road, bar none. All right," he said, seeing my de- 
termination not to make a fresh start, "we will make 
our way to the lodging house: it is not far from 
here." 

We were soon comfortably settled in this place, 
and when, after having had a good tea, I was sitting 
smoking, and enjoying a newspaper, I felt more 
pleased than ashamed of what I had done; for I 
was going to bed with an easy stomach, and had 
coppers in my pocket for a good breakfast. There- 
fore, when a fellow lodger, a hawker, who was now 
taking an inventory of his wares, and who had 
probably seen and heard us singing that day, when 
following his own calling — when this man enquired 
of me if the town was good for gridlers, I answered 
him very pleasantly indeed, that there was nothing 
to complain of. 

After breakfast, the next morning, my companion 
of the preceding day proposed putting in a good 
eight hours' work, but I at once cut him short say- 
ing that such a business was not in my line. Now, 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

several women were at this place; some of them 
were married, and some single, and most of them 
made and sold fancy work of embroidery. After 
I had spoken so decisively to my companion he had 
sat near to one of these women, at the other end 
of the kitchen. This woman, who seemed to be 
the wife of a knife and scissors grinder, had a little 
girl of about seven years of age. "Yes," said this 
woman, in answer to some question my companion 
had made, "you can have the kid all day; it's not 
the first time, by a long way, for Mary Ann to be 
used by gridlers, and she knows as well as you 
what's wanted of her." Not long after this remark 
my companion and the woman's child left the 
kitchen together. This I, subsequently, often saw 
done. Almost any woman, if she called herself 
a true traveller, would lend her child for this pur- 
pose; the woman or child, of course, deriving some 
part of the profit: so that when a man is seen with 
one or more children, it is not always to be granted 
that he is the father of them. These children are 
rarely subjected to ill usage — except that of enforced 
tramping — but are more often spoilt by indulgence, 
especially if they show early signs of that cunning 
which is needed for their future, and which is the 
boast of their parents. 

What a merry lot of beggars were assembled 
here; and how busy they all seemed to be, making 
articles for sale, and washing and mending their 

[236] 



Gridling 

clothes ! two or three of them sitting shirtless during 
the process of drying. 

It has become a common expression to say ''dirty 
tramp," or, "as dirty as a tramp"; but this is not 
always true, except occasionally in the large cities; 
although such a term may be applied morally to 
them all. There is one species of tramp who wan- 
ders from workhouse to workhouse; and this man, 
having every night to conform strictly to the laws 
of cleanliness, is no less clean, and often cleaner, 
than a number of people whose houses contain bath 
rooms which they seldom use. Another species of 
tramp is proud of being a good beggar, who scorns 
the workhouse, but who knows well that a clean ap- 
pearance is essential to his success. For this reason, . 
any one that enters a common lodging house can at 
once see what efforts are being made to this end. 
It seems strange to say, but the dirtiest looking 
tramp is often the most honest and respectable, for 
he has not the courage to beg either food or clothes, 
nor will he enter the doors of a workhouse. I have 
seen this so often the case that I would much prefer 
to believe a dirty ragged tramp who might tell me 
that he had a good home six months previous, than 
to believe his cleaner namesake, who seems so eager 
to impart this information unsolicited. It is cer- 
tainly the man who has had a good home, and has 
been waited on by other hands, who soon succumbs 
to a filthy condition, when it becomes necessary to 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

wait on himself by washing and patching his own 
clothes; and the higher his former position has been 
the lower he sinks in the social strata. 

It is no difHcult matter to get company when 
travelling. The pedlar, whom I have mentioned 
before, asked me if I was going towards Coventry, 
and if I intended to do business on the road. To 
this question I answered that such might be the case, 
but I could not say for sure — at the same time 
knowing that it was very unlikely. "Come along 
then," he said, "and do business if you feel inclined; 
but, I warn you, it is a very poor road for a gridler." 
We started at once, and, in the course of our journey 
I told him everything — my first experience of grid- 
ling and my dislike to it, and how my wares had 
been spoilt by the rain, which had prevented me, 
through having no stock, nor money to buy it, from 
earning my living in a respectable manner as a 
pedlar. "Of course," he said, "you have a pedlar's 
certificate?" I answered him in the aflSrmative, 
and added that I had not earned one penny with 
it up to that moment. 

As we jogged along talking in this way, we came 
to a small village, when the pedlar, stopping short, 
asked if I would like to help him to do a little trade. 
Knowing that something had to be done, as I had 
but twopence halfpenny in my pocket, I assured 
him that I would. Hearing this he took two bun- 
dles of laces from his pack, leather and mohair, and 

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Gridling 

placed them in my hands, at the same time saying — 
"You work on one side of the village and I'll attend 
to the other." I passed several houses before I had 
the courage to knock at their doors, but seeing him 
go calmly from door to door, I nerved myself to 
follow his example, and was soon doing the same, 
and, as far as I could see, was meeting with more 
success. This so encouraged me that I was soon 
regretting that I had no more houses left on my side 
of the village. But, instead of waiting patiently 
until he had done, I took a desperate notion and 
went back to the houses which I had at first passed. 
After this we jogged on towards Coventry, which 
we reached that evening. 

We worked Coventry together for four or five 
days, and the result was nine shillings and some 
odd pence in my pocket. This pedlar was going 
to spend a week or two with a brother in Birming- 
ham, whom he had not seen for a number of years. 
But, before we left Coventry, he persuaded me to 
stock myself with three shillings' worth of stuff, and, 
said he, "never let a day pass you without doing 
some business, however little; and never allow your 
stock to get low." We reached Birmingham, and, 
after he had shown and recommended a lodging 
house, he wished me good-bye, with many hopes that 
we might meet again. 

As usual, my first enquiry after I had settled 
for my lodgings, was for the public library. This 

[239] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

place I found so much to my liking, what with its 
variety of journals, its number of papers, and so 
much comfort and accommodation for its visitors — 
that business was entirely out of the question until 
the third day, when I woke to the awkward fact 
that my last three coppers were then being spent 
on a meal. At this I made up my mind to hawk 
on the outskirts of Birmingham for a month or 
more, so that my evenings might be enjoyed in its 
library. But, apparently, I was not cut out for 
this kind of business. Hawking required a perse- 
verance which I certainly did not possess. For when 
a person declined to make a purchase, instead of 
crying up the cheapness of my wares, I walked away 
dumbfounded to the next house. Yes, the success 
or ill success of this buying and selling was all a 
simple matter of tongue. A big able-bodied fellow, 
with a persistent tongue, can talk charity out of 
the people who indifferently pass the silent blind 
man. Of course this business of hawking with a 
few cheap laces, and a few packets of common pins 
or needles, was after all only another name for beg- 
ging, and it was well for us that the people knew it, 
for they often paid for what they declined to receive. 
They knew that these things were to be had much 
cheaper at a store. In exoneration of this fraudu- 
lent selling, a man was expected to tell some tale of 
distress. This I found difficulty in doing, except 
on being asked direct questions; and the people 

[240] 



Gridling 

would often stand after refusing to purchase with 
their hands in their pockets ready to assist on the 
first confession of distress. The number of times 
people have called me back, after I have left their 
doors, and assisted me, has often proved to me how 
they have waited to have their first feelings of pity 
strengthened by some recital of poverty. No doubt 
there was some sort of a living to be made in this 
way, providing a man talked incessantly and went 
for hours from house to house, and from street to 
street; and when he failed in the line of business 
to plead for the sake of charity. It must have 
been over two hours and my takings had amounted 
to ninepence, nearly all profit I admit. Looking 
at this paltry amount I now reversed my former 
opinion as to the resources of a large city, and 
came to the conclusion that the small country towns 
and villages were after all more willing, if not bet- 
ter able, to support me. Therefore, instead of re- 
turning to the city I took the road towards Warwick, 
intending when I reached that town to use my tongue 
to some purpose. And how many houses have I 
visited with this same resolution, but, alas, many 
of the towns were passed through without any one 
hearing the sound of my voice. 



[241] 



CHAPTER XXIV 

ON THE DOWNRIGHT 

ON my way towards Warwick I joined com- 
pany with a grinder, and we travelled so- 
cially together towards that ancient town. 
When we arrived, we lost no time in seeking a 
lodging house, which we soon found, but, to my sur- 
prise, the landlady, a big raw-boned, slatternly 
woman said, looking sternly at my companion: "I 
will have no grinders in my house." Of course, 
I did not know at that time what I have heard 
subsequently. Of all the men on the road, follow- 
ing various occupations, the grinder is, I believe, 
the most thoroughly detested. As a rule he is a 
drunken dissolute fellow, a swearer, and one who, 
if he picks up a quarrel, which is usually the case, 
is in no hurry to drop it. The more unpretentious 
lodgers hate his presence, seeing that he makes him- 
self more at home than the landlord himself. I 
have often heard travellers tell of a small village 
in the north of England, which grinders dare not 
enter, pass through or lodge therein for the night, 
and it is the regret of many travellers that there 
are not more villages of its kind distributed through- 

[242] 



On the Downright 

out the country. It seems that some years ago, a 
great wind had visited that particular town, and 
floored the roofs of the houses, and grounded the 
church steeple, many of the inhabitants being in- 
jured, and not a few killed. Now, it happened 
that the day following this great disaster, two un- 
fortunate grinders, who had arrived in town the 
night before, and slept at the village inn, appeared 
in the streets and made a great shout in soliciting 
orders. Some way or another the inhabitants con- 
nected these poor wretches with the great wind, and 
set upon them, and proceeded to beat them out of 
the town, coming near to killing them; and, since 
that day the town has been visited by neither grinders 
nor great winds. Even in larger towns these people 
often experience great difficulty in procuring lodg- 
ings. This state of affairs was not known to me 
at this time, or I should certainly not have been 
anxious for the company of one of these despised 
people. 

We were admitted at the next lodging house, but 
even here the landlady seemed to have some com- 
punction at so doing; for she followed us to the 
kitchen and without saying a word, placed her two 
hands on her broad hips, at the same time looking 
severely at my grinder, as much as to say — "If you 
are going to start any of your capers, let it be at 
once, my hearty grinder, now I am watching you, 
and we'll soon see who's who." We sat down 

[243] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

quietly, and the landlady, thinking that this atti- 
tude had had its desired effect, left the kitchen, 
not forgetting to throw a last glance at my grinder, 
who was trying his best to hide his nervousness by 
puffing hard at his pipe and nearly choking in the 
attempt. 

Some ten or fifteen men were in this room, some 
of them busy preparing work for the next day. 
Two were busy making artificial flowers; one was 
working with copper wire, turning and twisting it 
into toasting forks, plate holders, and hangers to 
suspend flower pots. Two others were in the rag 
and bone trade, for I had seen them when I first 
entered, overlooking their stuff in the backyard. 
One man was a pedlar, for there was his pack, to- 
wards which he often turned his eyes, in distrust 
of his company. One was a musician, for there, 
sticking out of the top pocket of his coat, was a 
common tin whistle. "There," said I to myself, 
glancing at a man on my right hand — "here is the 
only respectable working man among them all." 
This man had on a clean moleskin pair of trousers, 
a pilot cloth coat, and on his neck a large clean white 
muffler. "Grinder?" asked this man, catching my 
eye before I could avoid it. "No," I answered, "a 
pedlar." "Oh," said he, "I didn't notice you carry- 
ing a pack when you came in." Alas I my little 
stock could easily be carried in my pockets. "No," 
I answered, "as a rule I don't carry much stock." 

[244] 



On the Downright 

"I shouldn't think you would," he said, glancing 
at my leg, "a bible ought to be enough for you, and 
a good living too." Now it happened that when 
I left London, I had made room in my pockets for 
two books which, up till that time, I had very little 
opportunity of reading. One was the bible, and the 
other was a small printed and cheap paper cover edi- 
tion of Wordsworth. So, hearing this man mention 
a bible, I became extremely curious to learn how a 
man could earn a living by carrying a book of this 
kind. Seeking this information I said to this man — 
"I shouldn't think that there was much money to 
be made by carrying a bible." "Why not," he 
asked; "if you carry in your hand a decent rake 
(a comb), a flashy pair of sniffs (scissors) and a 
card of good links and studs — that is certainly a 
good bible for a living; but there is not much profit 
in a pair of stretchers (laces) or a packet of common 
sharps (needles). As for me," he continued, "I am 
on the downright, and I go in for straight begging, 
without showing anything in my hand. That grin- 
der, whom I thought you were with, and am glad 
you are not, works very hard at dragging that old 
ricketty contrivance with him all over the country; 
and is he any better off than I am *? I never fail to 
get the sixteen farthings for my feather (bed), I 
get all the scrand (food) I can eat; and I seldom 
lie down at night but what I am half skimished (half 
drunk), for I assure you I never go short of my 

[245] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

skimish." Being curious to see this man at work, 
and to hear the tales with which he approached 
people, I told him I would accompany him the next 
day as far as Stratford, that was if he had no objec- 
tion to my company, as I also intended to visit that 
town before I made my way towards London. To 
this proposal he seemed perfectly agreeable. 

The next morning arrived and after having had 
breakfast, we set out. We had scarcely set foot 
outside the lodging house, when I saw this down- 
righter dodge in and out of shops with an astonish- 
ing alacrity, more like a customer than a beggar; 
but with what success I could not tell. He seemed 
to go in smiling, and to come out the same, until 
we were at last at the business end of the town. 
He did not confide in me as to his success or failure ; 
but generously invited me to a smoke. We filled 
our pipes, but just as I was about to strike a match, 
my companion interrupted me with — "Wait until 
we are on the other side of the sky pilot." Looking 
down the road I saw a clergyman approaching us 
at a fast rate, carrying something in his hand which 
proved on nearer view to be a book of prayers. 
When this black cloth was within three or four feet 
of us, my companion began to address him in a very 
serious voice, calling him in his ignorance, or per- 
haps, excitement — "your reverend highness." The 
gentleman in black cloth seemed to have been ex- 
pecting something of this kind, for, without turning 

[246] 



On the Downright 

his head either to the right or left, he passed on, 
going if possible, at a greater speed. On seeing 
which my companion shouted in a jeering voice — 
"Go it, old hearty, and remember me in yer prayers." 
As we proceeded on our way he laughed immoder- 
ately. "Yes," he said, "I have always found a 
bible or a prayer book in a person's hand to be the 
sign of an uncharitable disposition. Seldom do I 
get anything from them, but I like to pester them. 
Now, if this had been a man with a bottle, or jug 
of beer in his hand, I would have had a civil answer 
at the very least." The indifference of this reverend 
gentleman, and the experience my companion seemed 
to have had of this kind in general, surprised me 
not a little; for this man I was with certainly had 
the appearance of an honest working man of the bet- 
ter class; his clothes were good, and his flesh was 
clean, and he certainly had not forgotten the bar- 
ber. 

My companion allowed no person to pass us with- 
out making an appeal, and it was made apparent 
to me that he was successful in a number of cases. 
In times of failure people listened to this respecta- 
ble looking fellow, and regretted that they had left 
home without having brought coppers with them. 
At one time we saw a man who had dismounted to 
examine his bicycle, probably having heard some 
part of it go click and fearing an accident, had paused 
for an investigation. We stood before this man, and 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

my companion in straightforward, manly tones, 
asked him for assistance. The gentleman began to 
stammer, to hem and to haw, at the same time say- 
ing that he regretted that he was not at that mo- 
ment exactly in the position to "Friend," 

broke in my bold downrighter, in a stern solemn 
voice, laying his heavy hand on the man's shoulder; 
"friend, you see before you two men in extreme want, 
who must be relieved in this very hour." We were 
standing in the man's way, and he could not possibly 
escape without knocking us over. Apparently the 
man was afraid, for he first looked at our faces, and 
after looking backward and then forward, he pro- 
duced a silver sixpence, saying he trusted that that 
amount would be of some service to us. We made 
sure of this and then cleared ourselves from his path, 
allowing him space to mount and ride, an oppor- 
tunity of which he quickly availed himself. This 
looked very much like highway robbery, but 
strangely, I was better satisfied at this open inde- 
pendent way of transacting business than by whining 
forth pitiful tales of want, however true they might 
be. 

We were now entering the town of Stratford-on- 
Avon, and my companion was advising me as to 
my behaviour at the common lodging house. "It 
is the only lodging house in the town," he said, 
"and the old lady is very particular and eccentric. 
Our very appearance may dissatisfy her, and then 

[248] 



On the Downright 

we will be compelled to walk some miles to the 
next town. She keeps a shop attached to the lodging 
house," continued the downrighter, "and if strangers, 
not knowing this to be the case, when applying for 
lodgings, have bread, tea, sugar, meat, etc., in their 
hands, that is bought elsewhere, this eccentric old 
landlady declines to receive them as lodgers, and 
they are forced, often late at night, to walk to the 
next town. Some time ago," he continued, "a 
lodger bought at her shop a half pound of cornbeef, 
which he thought was underweight. Going to the 
public house opposite for a glass of beer, he requested 
the publican to weigh this meat, which being done, 
it was found to be two ounces short of the required 
weight. On returning to the house this lodger went 
quietly to bed, but the next morning he spoke his 
mind to her in a very straightforward manner, mak- 
ing mention of the publican as a witness. Ever 
since that time, any man who visits that public house 
is not allowed to sleep on her premises. If seen 
entering that place by day, they are objected to at 
night, and if seen visiting that house after their 
beds are already paid for, on their return their money 
is at once refunded without the least explanation." 
It certainly spoke highly for our respectable ap- 
pearance when this particular landlady received our 
money, and admitted us without much scrutiny into 
the kitchen; although she lost no time in following 
us there, and stood for several minutes watching our 

[249] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

movements. No doubt if one of us had thrown 
a match on the floor, or sat too near the fire ; or com- 
plained that the kitchen only contained two tea pots, 
cracked and half spoutless, among the ten lodgers 
now patiently waiting a chance to make tea; and 
that there were only three cups, and one half rimmed 
plate like a vanishing moon — no doubt if we had 
uttered one complaint, our money would have been 
returned without advice or warning, and we would 
have found no other lodgings that would have an- 
swered our small means in the town. But we for- 
tunately knew the old lady too well to implicate our- 
selves and we gave her no chance to complain. 

After tea I wandered alone about the town, and 
as I went here and there in this enchanted place, 
ambition again took possession of me, stronger than 
ever. It filled me with vexation to think that I 
was no nearer my object, for I was, comparatively 
speaking, penniless. Two months had I wandered, 
during which time I had not been able to concen- 
trate my thoughts on any noble theme, taking all 
day to procure the price of a bed, and two or three 
coppers extra for food. True I had by now some 
three pounds saved, the income that I had not 
touched, but at this rate, I would never be able to 
attain my ends. November was here, and I was 
suddenly confronted with a long winter before me, 
and I pictured myself starved and snow bound in 
small out of the way villages, or mercilessly pelted 

[250] 



On the Downright 

by hailstones on a wild shelterless heath. Side by 
side with these scenes I placed my ideal, which was 
a small room with a cosy fire, in which I sat sur- 
rounded by books, and I sickened at the comparison. 
The following morning I was up and on my way 
before the downrighter had put in an appearance. 
In two or three days I was again back on the out- 
skirts of London, walking it round in a circle ; some- 
times ten miles from its mighty heart, or as far dis- 
tant as twenty miles; but without the courage to 
approach nearer, or to break away from it altogether- 
Whatever luck I had good or bad, I always managed 
to escape the workhouse; and was determined to 
walk all night, if needs be, rather than seek refuge 
in one of those places. One desperate hour pos- 
sessed me every day, sometimes in the morning, or 
in the afternoon, but more often in the evening, when 
I would waylay people on the high roads, go boldly 
to the front doors of houses, interview men in their 
gardens, stables or shops at the same time flourishing 
before their eyes a whip of a dozen laces. In this 
hour I seemed to be impelled by a fatality like that 
of the wandering Jew, cursed at having to perform 
something against my will. When this mad fit was 
at an end, during which I generally succeeded in get- 
ting a shilling or more, people might then come and 
go without fear of being molested, for I was satisfied 
that the workhouse was once more defeated for 
another night. 

[251] 



^to^ 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

One morning at the beginning of December, I 
made up my mind to tramp home for Christmas. 
This was a new idea, and not much to my liking, 
for I had always written them hopeful letters, and 
although they knew that I had left London, they 
knew nothing of my present condition. As usual, 
under these active impulses I made astonishing prog- 
ress, being on the borders of Wales in less than a 
week. The greater part of the journey accom- 
plished, being now less than thirty miles from my 
native town, I regretted having started with such an 
intention, and tramped over the Welsh Hills day 
after day, ultimately finding my way to Swansea. 
I did not remain long in that town, but began other 
rambles, and the day before Christmas eve, was in 
a town twenty-seven miles from home ; sleeping there 
that night I rose early the following morning and 
started for home. Keeping up a pace of three miles 
an hour, in spite of the one leg and the rough un- 
even roads of the hills, I accomplished the journey 
in nine hours, arriving home just after dark, without 
having once rested on the way. 

I had now been tramping for over three months 
and thought myself entitled to a little rest, if such 
could be had. After all, why had I done this, and 
to what end had I suffered*? For I would now draw 
the few pounds that were due to me, would return 
to London in a week or two, and would again com- 
mence writing without any prospect of success, for I 

[252] 



On the Downright 

would once more be living on a small income. And 
such was the case: three weeks' comfort improved 
me wonderfully and vitality returned stronger than 
ever after the low state into which it had fallen. 
What cut me to the heart was not. so much that I 
had not practised writing during these four months, 
but that I had been forced to neglect reading and 
had therefore been taking in no means to justify 
my hopes in the future of being capable of writing 
something of my own. The poor man, who has his 
daily duties to perform, has his quiet evenings at 
home, with friends to lend him books, and being 
known in the locality, a library from which to bor- 
row them, but what privileges has the wanderer*? 

Feeling myself fit, I drew what money was due to 
me and returned to London. 



[253] 



CHAPTER XXV 

THE FARMHOUSE 

YES, I returned to London, and to my sur- 
prise, began to look forward with pleasure 
to be again frequenting the old haunts for 
which, when leaving I had felt so much disgust. 
This feeling seems to be natural ; that I felt inclined 
to see familiar faces, although they were red and 
blotchy with drink; to hear familiar voices, however 
foul their language might be. Therefore, on the first 
night of my return wonder not when I say that I 
was sitting comfortably in the Ark, as though I had 
not slept one night away. I looked in vain for 
my old friend the Canadian. Many recognised and 
spoke to me. One in particular, a toy seller, who 
was curious to know where I had been. Seeing that 
he suspected that I had been incarcerated in a jail, 
I told him something of my wanderings, and ended 
by making enquiries of him as to the whereabouts 
of the Canadian. Of this man he knew nothing, 
but gave information that "Cronje," the fish porter, 
another of my acquaintances, was staying at the 
Farmhouse, and no doubt would be glad to see me, 

[254] 



The Farmhouse 

he having been at the Ark to enquire of me during 
my absence. Of course it was not my intention to 
stay long at the Ark, so I at once made my way to 
the Farmhouse, to see "Cronje," where I found him. 
The Farmhouse is very particular about taking 
in strangers, which certainly makes it a more de- 
sirable place than others of its kind; but, at 
"Cronje's" recommendation, I was without much 
ceremony accepted as a lodger. This man, nick- 
named "Cronje," who had been for a number of 
years in Australia, and had so many wonderful an- 
ecdotes to relate, was a sharp little man, the very 
image of a Jew in features, but fair, red, always 
happy and laughing, for a contradiction. He was 
clean in his habits, extremely generous to the poorer 
lodgers, and was well liked by all. It is true that 
many considered him to be a liar; but no man con- 
tradicted him, for no man was capable of talking 
him down. In his early days he had had a phe- 
nomenal voice, which he claimed to have lost through 
auctioneering. As a rower he had defeated all com- 
ers on the river Murrumbidgee, and had publicly 
disgraced the champion of Wagga Wagga at bil- 
liards. On seeing a man taking a hair out of his 
food, Cronje declaimed on the danger of swallowing 
this, relating how his friend Skinner of Australia — 
who had taken down all the best fencers of Europe 
— had swallowed a single hair which, taking root 
in his stomach, had grown to such a length that 

[255] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

it had killed him before an operation could be 
performed. Again: hearing some one mention the 
names of two famous singers, one a tenor and the 
other basso, Cronje, eager to create wonder, said 
that it was a most remarkable case that the tenor 
had at first become famous as a basso, and that the 
basso had at first received recognition as a tenor, and 
that each man's voice had changed after he had be- 
come famous. 

What a strange house was this, so full of quaint 
characters. Some of these men had been here for 
fifteen, and twenty years. "Haymaker" George was 
here, and had been here for some time; for he claimed 
to have gone haymaking from this very house, when 
he first came here ; going and returning daily without 
the assistance of trains, busses or cars. 

"Salvation" Jimmy was here; who had been so 
emotional that he had been desired as an acquisition 
to the Salvation Army, which he had joined, and 
donned the red jersey. At last the poor fellow had 
become so very emotional, probably influenced by 
such stirring music and the ready hallelujah of the 
members, that really, his frequent laughter, his fer- 
vent cries and his down-on-the-knees-and-up-in-a- 
trice, had provoked so many smiles and sarcastic re- 
marks from his audience, that not only was he not 
promoted to rank from a private, but was discharged 
the service altogether. Even to this day, he knew 
no reason for his dismissal. He was mad enough 

[256] 



The Farmhouse 

now, in these later days, laughing, dancing and sing- 
ing up and down the Farmhouse kitchen, so that I 
can imagine the effect on his nerves when marching 
to the sound of loud music, under the spread of a 
blood red banner. Even now, in these days, he drew 
every one's attention to his eccentric behaviour, so 
that what must he have been then^ 

I soon knew them all by name, that is, by their 
nicknames, by which most of them preferred to be 
known. It was very interesting to hear, morning 
after morning, "Fishy Fat" and John — the latter 
being in the last stages of consumption, and poor 
fellow peevish withal — sit down to breakfast and 
to abolish the House of Lords. It was often a sur- 
prise to me to see this noble edifice still standing, 
after hearing it abolished in such fierce language, 
and in terms of such scathing reproach. Strangely, 
these men had very little to say during the day; 
and did one get up earlier than the other in the morn- 
ing, he would stand silent with his back to the fire, 
or pace quietly up and down the kitchen waiting 
the appearance of his friend. When one saw the 
other preparing breakfast, he would at once follow 
his example and when everything was ready, both 
would seat themselves opposite each other at the 
same table. Up till this time nothing would have 
been said, until each had tasted and sugared his tea 
to his own liking. After this being done, one would 
suddenly ejaculate a sentence of this kind "Smother 

[257] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

them lazy rotters in the h'upper 'ouse, the bleeding 
liars." In accordance with that remark, the other 
would immediately answer — "Perish 'em all." And 
then would follow oath after oath of the blackest 
character, and daring cold-blooded designs that 
would have gladdened the heart of Guy Fawkes. 

Brown was also here^ and always in a state of won- 
der. He had very little faith in print, and every 
hour things happened which made him — to use his 
own words — "know not what or what not to be- 
lieve." He presumed that the laity was a certain 
kind of religious sect, but to him they all seemed 
without difference. The only difference he could see 
between a vicar and a curate was that one had a 
larger corporation and a redder nose than the other. 
Brown, who was a simple, kind-hearted fellow, said 
that we were all born of woman; that we were born 
and that we must all die; that it was a great pity, 
and made his heart bleed, to see a man come down 
in life after he has been high up; and that we had to 
face a cruel fact — although it was almost beyond 
belief — that a man's own relations often caused the 
man's downfall which, with his own eyes, he had 
seen done. 

"Gambling" Fred was here, looking over the daily 
paper with "Red Nosed Scotty." They are both 
short sighted, and, unfortunately, have but one pair 
of spectacles between them, which is now being used 
by "Scotty." Suddenly the red nosed man sees the 

[258] 



The Farmhouse 

name of a horse. "There you are," he cries exult- 
ingly; "there's a sure winner." "Where*?" asks his 
fellow gambler, taking the spectacles and adjusting 
them on his own nose. "How can I show you now*?" 
asks the red nosed gambler, in a fretful voice, 
"haven't you got the specs on?" At last matters 
are arranged to the satisfaction of both, and Fred 
approaches his friend "Yanks" for the loan of six- 
pence, to back this horse. But "Yanks" uncere- 
moniously tells his friend to go to hell. At this the 
gambler sulks all the evening and unfortunately the 
next day his favoured horse wins. On this transac- 
tion the gambler would have been ten shillings in 
pocket. After this another horse won, which Fred, 
in his penniless state, professes to have favoured. 
He would have backed this horse with his ten shill- 
ings won from the other race, and would now have 
been five pounds in pocket. "Yes," says the gam- 
bler, pointing to his friend "Yanks" — "that man has 
done me out of many a golden pound." 

Poor old "Scotty" Bill was here, a seller of fly 
papers; who disturbed the kitchen all day, because 
of the scarcity of flies, as though the lodgers were 
to blame. "We are having damn strange summers 
of late years," he said, "different from my younger 
days; for there is now scarcely a fly to be seen." 

Here dwelt "Hoppy" the bootblack, who had a 
rival in business on the opposite corner. He was 
certainly the dirtiest man I have ever seen going in 

[259] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

and out of a house, but he earned good money, and 
often came home drunk to this lodging house in a 
cab, causing a great sensation among the poorer 
lodgers. His rival did less trade, and could afford 
to do less, a lodger remarked, seeing that his mother 
kept a flourishing cats' meat shop. When I have 
passed near these rival bootblacks, I have often won- 
dered how the thousands of people walked daily be- 
tween them without being singed, not to mention 
scorched, by their baneful glances, which were fired 
at each other across the way. 

Here too had "Irish" Tim come; a very small 
man with a sarcastic tongue; an out-of-date printer 
broken on the wheels of new machinery. Did you 
not want to be subjected to the ridicule of the kitchen 
it was necessary when expressing an opinion, to look 
this man straight and sternly in the face, and to 
speak with the utmost deliberation. He always sat 
at the same table, and in the same seat, if not al- 
ready occupied; and his particular table was known 
as the House of Parliament, owing to the number 
of arguments conducted there, of which he was the 
leader. He passed judgment on public men, and 
although he rarely had a good word for any one, 
I must say, to Tim's credit, that he never lost an 
opportunity to stroke the cat. I believe Tim had 
just a little friendly feeling for simple, eccentric and 
impulsive Bob; whom he could scorn and contradict 
without being threatened or bullied in return. Bob 

[260] 



1 



The Farmhouse 

was an idealist, a dreamer with a strong imagination ; 
and it was Tim's delight to beat this dreamer to the 
thorny paths of his daily life, speaking in the name 
of common sense. 

Bob was full of the wonders of Nature, marvelled 
much at the undertakings of men, to make railways 
to cross mountains and bridges to span canyons; 
and was deeply interested in the early growth of 
things, ere they were manufactured into a form that 
every person could recognise. He was a most bril- 
liant conversationalist, and was interestingly dra- 
matic in his readings. He was a good companion 
for others, but, as I soon discovered to my disappoint- 
ment, seldom had a comfortable moment when alone 
with himself. I had a small bedroom to myself, and 
unfortunately the near cubicle to mine was Bob's. 
Bob, who, probably five minutes before, had been in 
the kitchen laughing, or reading with childish delight 
of the gorgeous pageantry of a coming play or pan- 
tomime, or had been seriously wondering at some 
new discovery, would scarcely set foot in his own 
quiet room ere he was clutched by a devil. I have 
become accustomed to foul language from one man 
to another, but his bold way of directly addressing 
his blasphemy to his Maker, stiffened the laughter 
on my lips, and shocked me, in spite of an indifferent 
faith. This unusually clever man — a genius, if this 
world ever had one — disappointed at his circum- 
stances, after an indulgence of his ideal, would sit 

[26l] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

on his bed and try to throttle himself, night after 
night; and then would smother his face in his bed 
clothes, and invariably end his mad fit by sobbing. 
When he reached this pitiful state, this simple, im- 
pulsive and childlike man, I felt like standing to his 
side, before the outraged face of his Maker, so great 
was my pity for him. 

Many others were here, whom I was to become 
better acquainted with — such as the "Major," "Aus- 
tralian" Bill, "Never Sweet," "Cinders," and "The 
Snob," who was sent to prison so often through hav- 
ing an over-liking for other people's pockets; and 
who, when questioned as to his absence, always said 
he had been to see his youngest brother. All of 
these were here, with many others of note. 

For the "Blacksmith" was here, who, every time 
he saw me preparing to go out, thought I must be 
on a begging expedition, and he trusted that I would 
find the ladies kindly disposed. On thanking him 
for this kind wish, he confided his intention of visit- 
ing Deptford, saying that he had given that part of 
the city a long rest. 

"Boozy" Bob was here, "Drunken Dave" and 
"Brummy Tom"; three small men with a large ca- 
pacity for taking ale. All these men were quiet or 
at least not objectionable, and none of them could 
disturb me in my room. The sleep of the house was 
disturbed more from without than from any cause 
within. Cats — by day the most docile of God's 

[262] 



The Farmhouse 

creatures, every one of them in the night enlisting 
under the devil's banner — took the place by storm 
after the human voice had ceased. But perhaps the 
one who accounted for more than two- thirds of my 
sleepless nights, was a woman, an outsider living in 
an adjacent block. It was her custom to come home 
drunk early in the morning, singing and swearing. 
"Little Punch," a sickly consumptive, who had lived 
in this neighbourhood of Southwark all his life, had 
no difficulty in recognising the voice of Mrs. Kelly. 
So whenever I enquired as to the origin of a dis- 
turbance, the name of Mrs. Kelly was the beginning 
and the end of it. Mrs. Kelly was not satisfied 
with a single fight; she occasionally instigated a riot. 
On the night of that memorable day when South- 
wark, and in particular the Borough, was visited by 
royalty, this was the lady that murdered sleep. The 
police always appeared tolerant with her, and more 
so on this occasion. As a general rule it is people 
that live in private houses who have to complain of 
the presence of a common lodging house, of being 
disturbed by its low-class inmates; but this lodging 
house, with beds for nearly two hundred men, was 
kept as quiet as a large mansion with its one small 
family and half a score of servants. In its kitchen 
was a continual din up till twelve o'clock at night; 
but this did not disturb the sleepers in other parts 
of the house. Seldom would a loud voice be heard 
inside; but it was nothing unusual to hear at night 

[263] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

the fighting and swearing of men and women, and 
the screaming of children. This could be expected 
without fail on Saturday nights and the close of 
holidays. These horrible and inhuman cries so af- 
fected me on one Saturday evening, when, for the 
sake of the study, I had retired early to bed, that I 
could neither think, sleep nor lie quiet, and felt com- 
pelled to get up and return to the kitchen. This I 
did, and found thirty or forty men assembled there, 
most of them more or less drunk, but none of them 
appeared quarrelsome. Of course it was impossible 
to sit long here before I was surrounded by them; 
and sat fearing to breathe deep enough to inhale the 
fumes of drink which came from both their mouths 
and clothes; and being in good favour with these 
hopeless fellows, was continually invited good na- 
turedly to shake hands with them. Instead of go- 
ing back to my room, I left the place and entered 
a public house for the first time in three months. 
"Brummy" Tom was there, with another fish porter 
of his acquaintance. "Have a drink with me," he 
said, "I have often thought to ask you, but thought 
you were a teetotaller and would refuse." 
" 'Brumm,' " I said, rather bitterly, "a teetotaller 
who lives in a common lodging house is to be heartily 
despised, for he shows himself to be satisfied with 
his conditions." With "Brummy" Tom and his 
friend for companions, I took a number of long 
sleeping draughts, and just after twelve o'clock that 

[264] 



The Farmhouse 

night was fast asleep in bed. The following morn- 
ing some of the lodgers were telling of murder cries 
heard just after midnight, but I praised the power 
of Bacchus that I had not heard them. 

It was always a mystery to me that these men 
^ respected me and never failed in civility in their 
dealings with me, for I did everything that these 
men disliked. I wore a white collar, which they at 
once take to be a challenge that you are their supe- 
rior. Few other men in the house, except they were 
fighting men, could have produced a toothbrush 
without being sneered at. True it induced Brown 
to ask the question whether I felt any actual benefit 
from cleaning my teeth; that he had heard so many 
different opinions that he did not know what or 
what not to believe; saying that he had often watched 
me, and wondered at so unusual a custom. They 
all destested the "Masher," because he was earning 
more than a pound a week on a good paper stand, 
and was also in receipt of a good pension; and they 
all cried shame on him for living in a common lodg- 
ing house. This man, to my discomfort, showed so 
much inclination to confide in me, pointing out the 
different lodgers who owed him money, and calling 
them low vagabonds and ungrateful scamps, in a 
voice that was not meant to be a whisper, that I 
was almost afraid of losing their good will in listen- 
ing to such words, without saying something on their 
behalf. Again I was almost a teetotaller, and that 

[265] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

was the worst charge of all. In spite of all this, I 
do not believe that I made one enemy, and am cer- 
tain that I never received other than kindness and 
civility from the lodgers of the Farmhouse. 



[266] 



CHAPTER XXVI 

RAIN AND POVERTY 

THE greatest enemy to the man who has to 
carry on his body all his wardrobe, is rain. 
As long as the sun shines he is indifferent, 
but it he is caught in a wet condition after sunset he 
is to be pitied. He does not fear any ill conse- 
quences to health from being wet through, as does 
his more fortunate brother, but he does not like the 
uncomfortable sensation of shivering and not being 
able to keep warm. This unsettled feeling is often 
made worse by an empty stomach. In fact a full 
stomach is his one safeguard against the cold, and 
he cares not then if the rain and the wind penetrate 
his clothes. No seaman ever searched the heavens 
for a dark speck, or astronomer for a new light, as 
does this homeless man for a sign of rain. To es- 
cape from the coming deluge he seeks shelter in the 
public library, which is the only free shelter availa- 
ble; and there he sits for hours staring at one page, 
not a word of which he has read or, for that matter, 
intends to read. If he cannot at once get a seat, 
he stands before a paper and performs that almost 

[267] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

impossible feat of standing upright fast asleep, so 
as to deceive the attendants, and respectable people, 
who are waiting a chance to see that very paper. 
To be able to do this requires many unsuccessful 
efforts, which fail on account of hard breathing, nod- 
ding and stumbling against the paper stand; but 
success has at last been attained, and there he stands 
fast asleep and apparently absorbed in a most in- 
teresting paragraph. He attains such perfection in 
this one act that he has been known to stand like a 
marble statue before a large sheet of costly plate 
glass, what time sleep had overpowered him in the 
act of admiring a baker's art. The homeless man 
must always remember one thing, that though he 
may sit on wooden seats and stone parapets, eat in 
public and go in rags, he must not, on any account, 
sleep. Working men only are allowed that privi- 
lege and those who can afford to remain idle. No 
policeman would think of indulging in a short nap 
until he made sure that there was no vagrant sleep- 
ing on his beat. And what respectable householder 
could rest in bed knowing that a tramp was sleeping 
in his doorway? If necessity is the mother of in- 
vention, sleep must certainly be necessary to a hu- 
man being, or the tramp, according to his many 
chances of experiments, would be the first to prove 
the contrary. So much for the very lowest men. 

But there are others who, in that they have a 
shelter at night, scorn the name of being called home- 

[268] 



Rain and Poverty 

less men. These men live in common lodging 
houses, and are well satisiEied with a place to sleep 
and enough food to keep body and soul together. 
Most of these men earn their living, such as it is, 
in the open air, and they earn so little that they are 
seldom prepared for a rainy day. Therefore, when 
comes this rainy morn, and the poor fellow rises pen- 
niless from his bed, it is then that you see a little 
seriousness come over him; for he cannot expose his 
wares to spoil in the rain and, did they not spoil, 
who would be foolish enough to tarry in bad weather 
to make an idle purchase*? The rain would spoil 
his paper-toys, his memorandum-books, or his laces 
and collar studs. In truth, as long as the rain con- 
tinues his occupation is gone. The paper seller can 
take his stand regardless of weather, and earn enough 
for the day thereof, at the expense of a wet skin. 
Sometimes he is fortunate enough to be stationed 
near some shelter, but sometimes his stand happens 
to be outside an aristocratic club or hotel, and he 
dare not enter its porch, not even if the devil was at 
his heels. 

Then there is the "downrighter," the man who 
makes no pretence to selling, but boldly asks people 
for the price of his bed and board. On a rainy day 
he has to make sudden bursts between the heaviest 
showers and forage the surrounding streets, which, 
being near a lodging house, are invariably poor and 
unprofitable, whereas his richest pastures are in the 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

suburbs or better still the outskirts of them. The 
bad weather is, of course, a blessing to those distant 
housekeepers, however hard it is on the "down- 
righter," for it comes as the Sabbath day to their 
bells and knockers. 

Then there are the market men who work two or 
three early hours in the morning, when the majority 
of people are asleep. These men are returning in 
their wet clothes between eight and nine o'clock and 
their day's work is done. Often they have no 
change of clothing, therefore it is not unusual for 
two men to be standing at the same fire, the one 
drying his wet socks and the other toasting his dry 
bread, with the articles in question almost embracing 
one another on the most friendly terms. 

It is on this rainy day that one sees those little 
kindnesses which are only seen among the very poor : 
one who has not sufficient for himself assisting some 
other who has nothing. One man who has made 
eighteen pence at the market, returns, pays four- 
pence for his bed, buys food, and then in addition 
to paying for another man's bed, invites yet another 
to dine with him and in the end gives his last copper 
to another. One, who happens to have done well 
the previous day, gives here and there until he is 
himself penniless. The consequence of all this is 
that whereas you saw in the morning dull and anx- 
ious faces, at midday you see more than half of the 
lodgers cooking, their beds already paid for. All 

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'I 

.1 



Rain and Poverty 

worry is at an end, and they are whistling, humming 
songs, or chaffing one another. 

It is on this rainy day when they are made prison- 
ers without spare money to pay into the beer house, 
that they mend and wash their clothes, repair their 
boots, and have abundant time to cook vegetables. 
It is a day for Irish stews and savoury broths. 

It was on one of these days, when the kitchen was 
so crowded, that I unfortunately attempted to make 
pancakes. I knew that such an unusual experiment 
could not fail to cause a sensation which I did not 
desire, so I placed myself in a dark corner and quietly 
and without being observed, made the flour into 
paste, exactly as I had seen another lodger do some 
time previous. The flour had been in my possession 
ever since that occasion, but my courage had up to 
the present failed. Three or four men were now 
at the stove, and a number of others were idly walk- 
ing up and down. I had made half a basin of paste, 
and this was to make one big thick fat pancake. 
But how was I to get it into the frying pan without 
attracting notice? I covered the basin with a saucer, 
placed the frying pan on the stove, with butter 
therein, and waited my chance. I had taken the 
precaution of having in readiness a large plate. At 
last my chance came, for two cooks were having 
high words as to whether cabbage should be put into 
cold or boiling water. Others joined in this argu- 
ment, so without receiving notice, I dropped the 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

paste into the frying pan and quickly covered it with 
a large plate. So far, so good: my only difficulty 
now would be to turn it; for after it was cooked I 
could carry the pan and its covered contents to the 
dark corner where I intended to dine; and where, 
although men might see me eat, none would be the 
wiser as to what I was eating. Five minutes had 
passed and no doubt its one side was cooked. The 
argument was still in full swing, for each man 
stoutly maintained his opinions, and almost every 
man who took part cited his mother or sister as an 
authority, except one, who proudly mentioned a 
French chef in an Australian gold diggings. Now 
was my chance. I cast one furtive glance around, 
rose the hot plate with a stocking, which I had been 
washing, made one quick turn of the wrist, spun the 
pancake in the air, caught it neatly and promptly, 
clapped the plate over it — the whole process done, 
I believe, in less than ten seconds. The difficulty 
was now over and I breathed relief. I went to my 
dining corner and sat down, intending to fetch the 
pancake in five minutes time. 

Three minutes perhaps I had been seated when 
I heard a loud voice cry — "Whose pancake is this 
burning on the stove*?" How I did detest that man : 
he was always shouting through the kitchen — 
"Whose stew is this boiling over?" or "Whose tea 
is stewing on the fire*?" The man always seemed 
to be poking his nose into other people's business. 

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Rain and Poverty 

I did not think it worth while drawing every one's 
attention by answering him, but made my way as 
quietly as possible towards the stove. Alas! the 
idiot, not thinking that I was the owner of the pan- 
cake, and was then on my way to attend to it, shouted 
the second time, louder, and it seemed to me, too 
impatiently — "Whose pancake is this?" If I was 
vexed when I heard that second enquiry, imagine 
how I felt when every lodger in the kitchen, not see- 
ing or hearing from the pancake's lawful claimant, 
began to shout in angry voices, "Whose pancake is 
that burning on the fire*?" My own patience was 
now exhausted. "The pancake is mine," I said, 
"and what about it? What is all this fuss about? 
It is the first pancake I have ever attempted to make 
and by heavens I if it is to cause such a stir as this, 
it will be the last." But while I was making this 
speech another voice, which froze the blood in my 
veins cried angrily — "Whose pancake is this?" It 
was a woman's voice, it was the Mrs. of the house; 
and I now knew that something more serious was 
happening than the burning of a pancake — I was 
burning her frying pan. If I dallied in respect to 
my pancakes, I must certainly not make further de- 
lay in saving the frying pan. To her I at once apol- 
ogised, but I gave that meddler a look that for ever 
again kept him silent as to what belonged to me. 
Such are the doings in a lodging house, vexatious 
enough at the time, but amusing to recall. 

[273] 



CHAPTER XXVII 

FALSE HOPES 

THE Farmhouse was under the management 
of an Irishman and his wife. He with a 
generous heart that always kept him poor, 
for he often assisted lodgers towards paying for their 
beds, who, I am sorry to say, were sometimes un- 
grateful in return. She, more circumspect, but kind 
hearted and motherly where she thought the case to 
be a deserving one. 

With regards to literary ambition I always kepi 
my own counsel, confiding in one man only — 
"Cronje"; a man to be relied on, whose sympathetic 
ears were always open to receive either good or bad 
news. 

I must have been in this house something like 
twelve months, when I took a sudden notion to 
send some work to a literary man, asking him for 
his opinion of the same. In a few days I received 
a letter stating that want of time prevented him 
from passing judgment on my work, which he re- 
gretted he would have to return unread. This did 
not offend me in the least, although I was greatly 
disappointed, for I knew that a man in his position 

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False Hopes 

could have little time to spare, and no doubt was 
pestered with correspondence of a like nature. 
But, unfortunately, the MS. returned in an ill con- 
dition, having been roughly handled through the 
post, and arrived at the Farmhouse with the ends 
of the envelope in tatters. When I received this 
ragged and disreputable parcel from the Manager, 
I knew that the cat was out of the bag, and that 
the secret which I had guarded so jealously was 
now the property of another, but I made no con- 
fession, thinking that he would broach the subject, 
which he did on the following morning. On en- 
quiring if the parcel I had received on the day pre- 
vious was a manuscript, I lost no time in telling 
him everything. The upshot of this was that he 
persuaded me to send some work to a publisher, 
and if that gentleman thought the book worth pub- 
lication, he, the Manager, had no doubt that one 
of the many rich people who were connected with 
the Farmhouse Mission could be induced to assist 
me. Hearing this I was sorry that I had not con- 
fided in him of my own accord, for I had often 
seen these rich people coming and going, looking, 
perhaps for deserving cases. 

With these golden projects before me, I again 
set to work, and, in less than a month, the MS. was 
ready and in the hands of a publisher. That gentle- 
man wrote in a few days saying that he thought 
there was literary merit, and that the cost of pro- 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

duction would be thirty pounds. The pubUsher's 
name was well known, and the Manager was quite 
satisfied as to its being a genuine offer from an old 
and respectable firm. Quite contented in my own 
mind, my part having been performed without 
difficulty, I gladly allowed this man to take posses- 
sion of this correspondence, and a few specimen 
books of verse, which the publisher had sent with it, 
and, having full trust in the man's goodness and 
influence, made myself comfortable, and settled 
down in a fool's paradise. I have never; had cause 
to doubt his goodness, but he certainly overrated 
his power to influence the philanthropists on the 
behalf of a lodger. 

Several weeks passed, and I had received no en- 
couraging news. No mention had been made of 
my affairs, and I gave myself over to the influence 
of the coke fire. After going out in the morning 
for two or three hours, I would return at midday, 
often earlier, and sit hopelessly before this fire for 
ten or eleven hours, after which I would retire to 
my room. What a miserable time was this: the 
kitchen, foul with the breath of fifty or sixty men, 
and the fumes of the coke fire, took all the energy 
out of a man, and it was a hard fight to keep awake. 
It has taken the play out of the kitten, and this 
small animal lies stretched out, overcome by its 
fumes, without the least fear of being trodden on. 
Sometimes, when I endeavoured to concentrate my 

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False Hopes 

mind, with an idea of writing something, it was 
necessary to feign a sleep, so that these kind hearted 
fellows might not disturb me with their civilities. 
On these occasions it was not unusual for me to fall 
into a real sleep. And, when I awoke, it sickened 
me to think of this wasted time; for I was spending 
in bed more hours than were necessary for my 
health, and it was a most cruel waste of time to be 
sleeping in the day. This fire exerted a strange 
influence over us. In the morning we were loath 
to leave it, and we all returned to it as soon as 
possible. Even the books and magazines in the 
libraries could not seduce me longer than an hour. 
There was one seat at the corner of a table, which I 
have heard called "the dead man's seat." It was 
within two yards of this great fire, which was never 
allowed to suffer from want of coke. It was im- 
possible to retain this seat long and keep awake. 
Of course, a man could hardly expect to keep this 
seat day after day for a long winter, and to be alive 
in the spring of the year. This was the case with 
a printer who, unfortunately, had only three days' 
work a week. The amount he earned was sufficient 
for his wants, so, in his four idle days, he would sit 
on this seat, eating, reading, but more often sleeping, 
until before the end of the winter, he was carried 
away a dying man. Some of these lodgers claim 
to be able to recognise in the public streets any 
strangers who are suffering from this coke fever. 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

Weeks passed and then months, and I still heard 
nothing about my book. The Manager had failed, 
of that I at last became certain. I avoided him as 
much as possible, because of the confidence I had 
reposed in him. It was certainly very awkward 
for the both of us, and I felt much sympathy on his 
account. When he was near I felt extremely un- 
comfortable, and I am sure he felt none too easy 
in my presence. 

Spring at last came, and I broke away from the 
lodging house fire, to indulge in the more pure rays 
of the sun. I began to absent myself from the 
house longer every day, until I at last began to 
regret that there was any necessity to return to it 
at all. The happiness and stir of Nature, at this 
time of the year, began to fill me with her own 
energy. I was in my room, one of these bright 
mornings, and was looking in the mirror, adjusting 
my scarf — the mirror and bed being the whole fur- 
niture. In this mirror I looked long enough to see 
a white hair on the side of my head. Thinking 
this to be hardly true at my time of life, I shifted 
the glass to a better light, thinking it must have 
played me false; but sure enough, here it was — a 
single hair, as white as snow. Yes, I thought, with 
some bitterness, this comes of waiting to be fulfilled 
the promises of other people; and you will never 
rise if you do not make some effort of your own. 
Thinking of this white hair, I left the house, won- 

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False Hopes 

dering what I could do to help myself. And, this 
particular morning, an idea occurred to me, so sim- 
ple, so reasonable, and so easily to be accomplished, 
that it filled me with surprise that such a plan had 
not presented itself before. I had an income of 
eight shillings per week; then what was to prevent 
me from borrowing forty or fifty pounds, even 
though I paid for it a little more than usual interest'? 
Again I was full of hope and happiness, for I could 
see nothing to prevent the accomplishment of this. 
My eight shillings were being received in sums of 
two pounds every five weeks. Two shillings a week 
were forwarded home, and I lived abstemiously on 
the remainder. My five weeks' money was due on 
the following week, so I at once began making prep- 
arations for a trip home. When this money arrived 
I determined to lose no time in executing these 
plans, for I had visions of being a white headed 
man, if I remained under these hopeless conditions 
for another year or two. The money came on Sat- 
urday night, when it was due, and everything being 
prepared, I was that very night on my way to Pad- 
dington Station, after having told the manager that 
I was going home for a week, and that I would 
forward him my rent, if I remained longer than 
that time. Full of this idea I arrived at home. 

The following Monday I invaded the ofHce of my 
old granny's lawyer, and telling him I wished to 
set up in business, consulted him as to the best way 

[279] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

of borrowing the money, some forty or fifty pounds 
being necessary. He saw nothing to prevent this 
from being done, but strongly advised me not to do 
so; "at any rate," he said, "see your trustee, ask 
him if he can lend you the amount, and, if he cannot 
see his way clear to do so, let me know I" In half 
an hour I was with the trustee. That gentleman 
had not the amount on hand, but had plans of his 
own which, if I strictly adhered to, would be more 
to my advantage in the long run. 

"It is now June," he said, "and if you allow 
your income to stand until the beginning of the 
New Year, you will then have ten pounds saved to 
your account, and I give you my promise to advance 
another twenty pounds without a question of in- 
terest, making the amount thirty pounds I" Now 
it happened that three weeks before I left London, 
I had sent a work to a printer and publisher, who 
had priced two hundred and fifty copies at nineteen 
pounds; so that I knew well that thirty pounds 
would be ample to meet all expenses. But how 
was I to live for the next six months'? Deter- 
mined to make any sacrifice to attain this end, I 
closed with the trustee's offer, and, getting an ad- 
vance from him of one pound, intended to return 
at once to London, but was persuaded to remain 
at home for another three weeks. At the end of 
this time I paid my fare back to London, and again 
took possession of my room, for which I had for- 

[280] 



False Hopes 

warded the rent during my absence. In less than 
four days after my return, I was very near penni- 
less, and saw no other prospect than to start on 
another half year's wandering. 

How foolish all this was I Why did I not start 
my travels from home, instead of wasting money 
on a return fare to London*? Why did I pay three 
weeks' rent for the sake of returning to a room for 
as many days'? Well, I had a faint hope that the 
Manager might, at last, after six months, have suc- 
ceeded in his attempt. 

I told the Manager that I was going on the road 
for a month or two, but mentioned no purpose, 
for I was now resolved to act for myself. 

"You will always find room at the Farmhouse," 
he said; "do not doubt that." 

Trying to appear as cheerful as possible, for I 
knew this man was also disappointed, I left him, 
determined never to set foot in that house again 
until I could dispense with the services of others. 
At this time I had two silver shillings and some 
odd coppers, and would soon need assistance as a 
man, without any question as to my work as an 
author. 

Again I was leaving London, not knowing how 
much I would have to suffer. One idea consoled me 
not a little; that I would not require money for a 
bed for at least three months to come; that the 
nights, though cold, would not be so dangerous as 

[281] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

to kill. Whatever the consequence might be, even 
if this rough life threatened to injure my health 
permanently, I was firmly resolved to sacrifice the 
next six months for whatever might follow them. 



[282] 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

ON TRAMP AGAIN 

NOW followed a strange experience, an experi- 
ence for which there is no name; for I 
managed to exist, and yet had neither the 
courage to beg or sell. Certainly at times I was 
desperately inclined to steal; but chance left noth- 
ing for my eyes to covet, and I passed harmlessly 
on. When I suffered most from lack of rest, or 
bodily sustenance — as my actual experience became 
darker, the thoughts of the future became brighter, 
as the stars shine to correspond with the night's 
shade. 

I travelled alone, in spite of the civilities of other 
tramps, who desired company, so as to allow no 
strange voice to disturb my dreams. Some of these 
men had an idea that I was mad, because I could 
give them little information as to the towns and 
villages through which I had that very day passed. 
They enquired as to the comforts and conditions 
of a town's workhouse, of which I knew nothing, 
for I had not entered it. They enquired as to its 
best lodging house, of which I was again ignorant, 

[283] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

having slept in the open air. They enquired how 
far I had come that day, which I could not imme- 
diately tell them; and they were curious to know 
how far I was going, which I did not know. The 
strangest part of this experience was that I received 
help from people without having made a glance of 
appeal, and without having opened my mouth. 
When I asked for water, tea or milk was often 
brought, and food invariably followed. I began to 
look on this as a short life of sacrifice, killing a few 
worthless hours so as to enjoy thousands of better 
ones; and I blessed every morning that ushered in 
a new day, and worshipped every Sabbath night 
that closed another week. 

After tramping from town to town, from shire to 
shire, in two months I was in Devonshire, on my 
way to Plymouth. I felt continually attracted to 
these large centres of commerce, owing, I suppose, 
to feeling the necessity of having an object in view; 
but was generally starved out of them in a very 
short time. A gentleman on horseback, whom I met 
near Totnes, saved me from suffering from want, 
for a couple of days, at least, when I would reach 
Plymouth. This gentleman drew his horse to a 
halt, so that he might enquire my destination. He 
seemed to be much surprised when I told him it 
was the town of Plymouth. 

"Ah, well," he said, glancing towards the ground, 
"there is only one foot to get sore, if that is any 

[284] 



On Tramp Again 

consolation to you; perhaps this will help you a 
little on the way," dropping into my hand three 
silver shillings. 

Without having this case in mind, I certainly 
fared better in Devonshire than in other counties, 
and found its people more like the prosperous set- 
tlers in new lands. In spite of this, my roughest 
experience was in this county, owing to the inclem- 
ency of the weather, and the difficulty of finding 
shelter. One night I had gone into the fields, and, 
getting together a dozen or more wheatsheaves, pro- 
ceeded to build a house of them, making a dry floor 
on the damp earth, with walls to shelter from the 
wind, and a roof to shelter from the dew, leaving 
just space enough at one end to admit my body. 
I had been in here comfortable and warm for some 
time, when it began to rain. In half an hour the 
rain leaked in large drops through the roof, and 
in less than an hour these drops had become streams. 
There was nothing to do but to remain, for it was 
now too dark to seek shelter. For ten hours it 
rained incessantly, and I was literally wet to the skin, 
and no drier than a person immersed in water — 
not wet to the skin as people commonly express it 
when they are damp after a few showers. I was 
nothing daunted, looking on this as one of the many 
hard experiences that I was compelled to undergo. 
' The next morning I chose a secluded spot in the 
open air, so as to lie down where the sun, coming 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

out warm and strong, would dry me while I slept. 
Two or three times have I suffered in this way, but 
have never felt any ill effects after. 

My worst experience of this kind was in the ad- 
joining county of Somerset, at the end of September, 
when I was again making my way back to London. 
But it was not the blowing of the wind, or the patter 
of the rain; not the rustle of the leaves on the 
swaying branches; not the discomforts of having 
wet clothes, and being without sign of a barn or 
empty house in which to shelter; it was none of 
these that took the courage out of me: it was a 
wild laugh, harsh, and apparently in savage mockery. 
I had skirted what appeared to be a park, for some- 
thing like two miles, and was weary to see the end 
of it. This at last seemed to come, for I could see 
through the trees a large open field wherein were 
wheatsheaves, stacked in their threes, and in their 
usual rows. Now, had this been a field right up 
to the roadside, I would most certainly have had 
no compunction in spending the night there, being 
tired of carrying such a distance my wet and heavy 
clothes. As it was, I paused, not feeling inclined 
to proceed further on my journey, and yet not half 
liking to cross that narrow strip of park, thinking 
it might contain game that would be well looked 
after, making trespassing a serious offence. When 
in this irresolute state of mind, I caught sight of 
a white gate, and a small footpath leading to the 

[286] 



On Tramp Again 

field. Night seemed to be coming on at the rate 
of a darker shade to the minute, and I knew well 
that in another quarter of an hour it would be 
difficult to distinguish a house from a barn. Seeing 
this, I summoned courage, opened the gate, and 
made my way quickly along the path that led to 
the wheatsheaves. Standing amidst these I waited 
silently, listening for any that might be in that 
locality. Satisfied that there were not, I picked up 
a sheaf, and was about to lay it flat, when I heard 
a loud startling laugh, coming from the direction 
of the road. Dropping the sheaf at once, I bent 
low, not for a moment doubting but what some 
one had seen me from the road, and was taking 
a heartless delight in letting me know his discovery. 
Although I regretted this, thinking he would inform 
others, and I would surely be disturbed before 
morning, perhaps that very hour — I determined to 
travel no further that night, if I could help it, and 
proceeded to make my bed, under the impression 
that he had passed on. I stood up in full, but had 
scarcely done so, when my appearance was greeted 
by several long shouts of derisive laughter. Now, 
a homeless man has no time to be superstitious, 
he fears the living and not the dead. If he is sleepy 
he is not particular about feeling in the darkness of 
cellars or vaults; and, if he were sleeping on a grave, 
and was awakened by a voice crying — "Arise from 
off this grave," he would at once think it the voice 

[287] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

of a grave digger, or the keeper of the cemetery, 
rather than the ghostly owner of the same. There- 
fore, I had not the least idea but what this was the 
voice of a human being, although it sounded un- 
canny and strange. I moved again, and again heard 
that loud peal of laughter. This voice evidently 
only mocked when I moved, for when I stood still, 
not a sound was to be heard. This time I gave up 
all thoughts of making a bed, and being now filled 
with fear, picked up the thick stick with which I 
travelled, and stood on the defensive, every moment 
expecting to see a madman burst from under the 
trees and in three leaps and a bound be at my 
side. These movements seemed to cause some mer- 
riment, but the laughter again ceased when I stood 
watching and waiting, and puzzled how to act. 
Rest was now out of the question, and I made up 
my mind to leave that accursed place instantly. 
With this intention I made my way towards the 
gate. I had scarcely moved in that direction, when 
the laughing began, this time continuing for a long 
time, as though jeering its last at my defeat. When 
I reached the gate, and passed through to the open 
road, my courage returned, and I looked with some 
bitterness to see the figure of some country lout 
hurrying into the darkness, after succeeding in rob- 
bing me of my sleep; but, to my surprise, I heard 
no one, and could see no figure on the road before 
or behind. It was now that superstition took hold 

[288] 



On Tramp Again 

of me, and I got off with all possible speed, often 
looking back to see if I was pursued; and I did not 
stop until a human settlement lay between me and 
that accursed park. Often have I thought of that 
night. It is natural to suppose that a thoughtless 
ploughman, or farm labourer, would have stood at 
the roadside and laughed or shouted once or twice, 
and then passed on, but it is scarcely probable that 
he would have remained there to carry his joke so 
far. Granted that he had had the courage to laugh 
so many times, taunting one at a distance, where 
was his courage now that he had run away, or still 
stood concealed behind the trees ^ The voice 
sounded human, but still seemed wild and a little 
unnatural. After much consideration the only con- 
clusion I could put to the affair was that the voice 
came from a bird in the trees; an escaped pet bird 
that could imitate the human voice. This solution 
of the mystery did not altogether satisfy me, for 
I have never had cause to believe that any bird 
could so perfectly imitate the human voice. Su- 
perstition must have thoroughly possessed me for 
the once in my life, or I should not have walked 
all night, after the painful exertion of the day. 

If I settled towards night time in any place where 
a bird came hopping restlessly from branch to 
branch, making a series of short cries of fear, to let 
me know that I was lying too close to its nest, I 
would without hesitation shift my position, often to 

[289] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

my own discomfort; but at the same tim.e, people 
could pass to and fro to my indifference, 

I would never beg, unless forced to the last ex- 
tremity, for I feared the strange fascination that 
arises from success, after a man has once lost his 
shame. On one occasion I saw a well dressed couple 
wheeling their bicycles up an incline, which was 
too steep to ride. Evidently they were lovers, for 
they seemed to be in no hurry to reach the top of 
the hill and end their conversation by riding. As 
I drew near the lady produced her purse, and, placing 
something in her companion's hand, motioned over 
her shoulder in my direction. On which the gentle- 
man nodded, and immediately glanced back towards 
me. Now, these people could not very well make 
the first overtures, for the simple reason that they 
know not whether a man is in want, or is a poor, 
but proud and respectable inhabitant of one of the 
adjacent villages. I preferred to impress them with 
the latter opinion, for, when I reached them, I put 
on an extra spurt, and was soon beyond their hearing. 
No, I would never make a good beggar, for here was 
money in readiness, to come at the sound of my 
voice, or to be drawn by the simple side glance of 
my eye. When I was some distance away, I looked 
back, and saw the lady looking rather disappointed, 
receiving back her coin. Her companion was 
laughing, no doubt consoling her by saying that I 
was hardly likely to be in actual need, or I would 

[290] 



On Tramp Again 

have asked for assistance, and probably my home 
was somewhere near. The truth of the matter was 
that at this time I had not a copper to bless my- 
self with. 

Days, weeks, and months went on, and it was 
now the month of October. It was now that I 
began to find the necessity of having a bed every 
night, having been satisfied up till then with a bed 
once or perhaps twice a week, according to the cop- 
pers received. I was back again in Swindon, 
having been there some time previous, when on my 
way to Devonshire. The first three months of sacri- 
fice were over, and I was very little the worse for 
it; but the next three months required different 
means, to correspond with the difference in the time 
of year. Shelter was necessary every night, and 
to meet these stem demands, I needed something 
to sell, so as to be sure of coppers for this purpose. 
With this idea, I bought two dozen laces with the 
last three coppers I had, and re-opened business as 
a hawker. The success with which I met in this 
town astonished me, owing, I believe, to its being 
a working man's town, and not filled with half-pay 
officers and would-be aristocrats that cannot afford, 
but still feel it their duty, to live in fine villas 
in the locality of a royal residence. The poor, 
sympathetic people seemed to understand a man's 
wants. Business was often transacted without the 
utterance of words. Taking a pair of laces, they 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

would give a copper, and, smiling their sympathy, 
close the door. Often one would pay for these use- 
less things and not take them. The kindness of 
these people so filled me with gratitude, that I found 
it impossible to continue selling after I had received 
enough to supply the day's wants, which would 
often be in less than half an hour. I remained here 
for two weeks, being able to allow myself half an 
ounce of tobacco and a halfpenny paper every day. 
The only thing that worried me in this town was 
the persistence of an old beggar in the lodging 
house. Night after night, this man would advise 
me to go out and stand pad. This was, he ex- 
plained, that a man, who is afflicted with the loss 
of an arm, a hand or a leg, blind, paralysed or lame, 
should stand or sit in a public place in the town, 
holding in his hand matches, laces or any other cheap 
trifle, so that he might invite the charity of passers 
by. This old man could not understand why this 
was not done, seeing that it required no eloquence 
— the very act and the affliction speaking for them- 
selves — and was so successful a dodge that even able- 
bodied men could often pick up a shilling or two 
in this way. At last I became so impressed with 
this old man's eloquence, that I left the lodging 
house three times in one night with a firm resolution 
to stand pad, and three times I returned without 
having done so. On the last occasion I did make 



*to 



[292] 



On Tramp Again 

a little attempt, but foolishly took up a position 
where no one could see me. 

Before I left Swindon I wrote to a friend of mine 
in Canada, requesting him to forward me a pound 
to London, as soon as possible, which would be 
returned to him at the beginning of the new year. 
I did this so that I might have a couple of weeks 
at the end of December to prepare my MS. and to 
be ready for business as soon as that time arrived. 
It was now the latter end of October, and this 
pound could not reach London far short of a month. 
Thinking I was not likely again to suffer for want 
of a bed or food, after this success in Swindon, I 
bought a good stock of laces and left that town, 
with the intention of working the towns on the 
outskirts of London, so that when ready to enter 
I would be within a day's march. Unfortunately, 
after leaving Swindon, success deserted me, which 
was certainly more my fault than that of the 
people, for I made very little appeal to them. 
Arriving at Maidenhead, I had the bare price of 
my bed, with a dry bread supper and breakfast. My 
laces were being exhausted, and I was without means 
to replenish them. From town to town I walked 
around London, sometimes making sixpence, and 
always less than a shilling a day; and this small 
amount had to purchase bed, food, and occasionally 
a couple of dozen laces. The monotony of this exist- 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

ence was broken a little at Guildford, where I was 
arrested on suspicion of crime. A plain clothes 
officer happened to be in the office of the lodging 
house, who, when he set eyes upon me, requested a 
few moments conversation, at the same time leading 
the way out into the yard. He then came to a 
halt under a lamp, and, taking from his pocket some 
papers, began to read, often raising his eyes to 
scrutinise my person. "Yes," he said, at last, "no 
doubt you are the man I want, for you answer his 
description." "I suppose," was my answer, "it is 
a case of arrest'?" "It is," he said, "and you must 
accompany me to the station." On my way to that 
place he asked many a question of what I had done 
with my overcoat, and as to the whereabouts of 
my wife. It had been several years since I had 
owned the former, and the latter I had never pos- 
sessed; but this man could not be convinced of either. 
"Which way have you come*?" he asked. To which 
I mentioned one or two shires. At this he pricked 
up his ears, and asked if I had been in a certain 
town in one of those shires, which I had, and saw 
no reason to say otherwise. Unfortunately this was 
the town where the guilty man had operated. The 
detective was certainly not very smart when he took 
this confession as evidence of guilt, for the guilty 
man would have mentioned that particular town as 
one of the last places to visit. I certainly answered 
to the description of the man wanted, with the ex- 

[294] 



On Tramp Again 

ception of not having a blotchy face, which had been 
characteristic of the guilty man. But on my face 
they saw no blotches, nor signs of any having been 
there in the past. Of course, I was discharged in 
an hour, and returned to the lodging house for the 
night. The following day I happened to be in 
Dorking, and was walking through that town, when 
I heard quick steps behind me, and a voice cry — 
"Halt: I want you." Turning my head I saw it 
was a police officer. This man at once took pos- 
session of me, saying that he fortunately had been 
looking through the police station window, when 
he saw me passing, and that I answered to the 
description of a man wanted — "for that affair at 
Cheltenham," I added. "Ha," he said, his face 
lighting with pleasure, "how well you know." We 
returned quietly to the police station, and when I 
confronted his superior officer, I asked that person 
if I was to be arrested in every town through which 
I passed; telling my experience the night before at 
Guildford. After one or two questions, and a care- 
ful reading of the description paper, also an exami- 
nation of my pedlar's certificate, he told me I was 
at liberty to go my way, at the same time saying 
that no man with any sense would have arrested 
me. After this I was not again troubled by police 
officers, owing perhaps, to their having arrested the 
guilty man. 

[295] 



CHAPTER XXIX 

A day's companion 

I HAD many a strange experience in those days, 
especially one with an old man, who must 
have been between seventy and eighty years of 
age. He accosted me through the hedges and, look- 
ing in that direction, I saw him in the act of filling 
a quart can with blackberries, aided by a thick long 
stick with a crooked end. "Wait a moment," said 
he, "for I also am going Bedford way." I was 
nothing loth to wait, for I was a stranger in that 
part of the country, and required information as 
to which was the best cheap lodging house for the 
night. I knew that in a town of the size of Bed- 
ford there must be more than one common lodging 
house, and one must be better than another, if only 
in the extra smile of a landlady, regardless of clean 
blankets or cooking accommodation. 

For this reason I waited, and, in less than three 
minutes, the old man joined me. His answer to 
my first question was disappointing, for it seemed 
that the number of lodging houses which Bedford 
could boast were all public houses, and there was 
not one private house that catered for beggars. 
This was a real disappointment, for I knew that 

[296] 



A Day's Companion 

whosoever made tea at such a place, did so under 
the ill favoured glance of a landlady or landlord, 
perhaps both, who sold beer ready made. In fact 
the facilities for making tea, cooking, or even 
washing one's shirt, were extremely limited at such 
a place, which made it very undesirable for a poor 
beggar like myself, who had great difficulty in beg- 
ging sufficient for his bed and board, and did not 
wish to be reminded of beer. 

"Surely," I said, "there must be in a town the 
size of Bedford one private lodging house, at least, 
to accommodate tramps." 

"Well," said he, "as a tramp I have been going 
in and out of that town for over thirty years, and 
I never heard of such a place. You can make en- 
quiries, and I should like to know different," he 
continued, rather sarcastically that I had doubted 
his knowledge. "The two best houses are the 
'Boot' and the 'Cock,' but seeing that the former 
takes in women, the latter I think would be the best 
for us. Are you going to do business on the road^" 
he enquired. "Not to-day," I answered him, "for 
I have enough for my bed, and an extra few coppers 
for food." "All right," said he, "we will travel 
together, and if I do a little business on the way it 
won't interfere with you, and we have plenty of 
time to reach the lodging house before dark." Hav- 
ing no objection to this proposal we jogged pleas- 
antly along. 

[297] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

We were now descending a steep incline and my 
companion, seeing a man coming in the opposite 
direction, walking beside a bicycle, lost no time in 
confronting that gentleman and pushing the black- 
berries under his nose. "No," said the man, gruffly, 
"do you think I am going to carry those things'? 
but here's a copper for you." Well, thought I, 
this man will never sell his berries if he does not 
show more discretion and offer them to more likely 
customers. 

Just after this we met a lady and gentleman, both 
well dressed and apparently well to do. Touching 
his cap to these people my companion soon had his 
blackberries within a few inches of their eyes, at the 
same time using all his persuasive powers to induce 
them to make a purchase. In this he failed, as was 
to be expected, but continued to walk step by step 
with them for several yards, until the gentleman 
hastily put his hand in his pocket and gave the old 
fellow sixpence, the smallest change that he had. 
■ Several others were stopped after this, and al- 
though my fellow traveller failed to sell his perish- 
able goods, a number of people assisted him with 
coppers. In one instance I thought he surely could 
not be of sound mind, for he had seen a party of 
ladies and gentlemen seating themselves in a motor 
car, and was hurrying with all speed in that direc- 
tion. In this case he failed at getting a hearing, 
for before he was half way towards them, the party 

[298] 



A Day's Companion 

had seated themselves and the car was moving rap- 
idly away. My companion's lips trembled with vex- 
ation at seeing this. 

"Wait a moment," said he, crossing the road to 
a baker's shop — "I am going to exchange these ber- 
ries for buns." Waiting outside I was soon joined 
again by this strange old fellow who then carried 
in his left hand four buns, his right hand still being 
in possession of the blackberries. 

"You will never sell them," I said, "if you do 
not offer them at more likely places. See, there is a 
shop with fruit and vegetables : try there." "Why," 
he answered with a grin, "how do you think I could 
make a living if I sold them"? The market value 
of these berries is about one farthing, and it takes 
sixteen farthings to pay for my feather (bed) not 
reckoning scrand (food), and a glass or two of skim- 
ish (drink). In fact," said he, "my day's work 
is done, and I am quite satisfied with the result." 
Saying which he tumbled the blackberries into the 
gutter and placed the can — which he used for mak- 
ing tea — into a large self-made inside pocket. On 
getting a better view of them, I remarked that no 
person could buy such berries, for they were about 
the worst assortment I had ever seen in my life. 
"It would not pay to make them very enticing," 
said he, "or they would find a too ready sale." "But 
what do you do when the season is over?" I asked, 
"for you cannot pick blackberries all the year 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

round." "Oh," he answered, "I have other ways 
of making a living. If I can get a good audience 
in a public house, I can often make a day's living 
in a quarter of an hour, with several drinks in the 
bargain." "What, by singing or dancing?" I asked. 
"No," said he, "but by reciting. Listen to this." 
With that he began to recite a long poem, line after 
line, until I began to hope his memory would fail 
him. What a memory it was I Hundreds of lines 
without a break. When he came to the most dra- 
matic parts he paused for action, and I knew that 
he was heedless of the approach of night, and had 
forgotten that Bedford was still afar off. There 
was now no stopping of him; poem after poem he 
recited, and he introduced his subjects with little 
speeches that were so different from his ordinary con- 
versation, that it was apparent that he had committed 
them also to memory for the benefit of a fit audience. 
If he was so zealous after a weary day's walk, and 
without stimulants, what would he be under the in- 
fluence of several glasses of strong ale? I shud- 
dered to think of it. 

We were now about a mile from Bedford, and 
my companion had for the last hour been reciting; 
as for myself I was travelling alone, for I had for- 
gotten him. Sometimes to my confusion he would 
startle me by a sudden question, but seeing that he 
made no pause for an answer, I soon understood that 

[300] 



A Day's Companion 

no answer was required of me, for that he was still 
reciting. 

As we entered the outskirts of Bedford, my com- 
panion found it necessary, owing to increase of 
traffic, to raise his voice, which he continued to do 
until at last the traffic became so very great that 
he could not make himself heard. I had not heard 
his voice for the last five minutes, when he suddenly 
clutched my shoulder and demanded what I thought 
of that. "You have a wonderful memory," I said. 
"Oh," said he, "that is nothing; I could entertain 
you for several days in like manner, with fresh 
matter each day. Here we are at the 'Cock.' I 
like your company and, if you are travelling my 
way to-morrow, let us go together. It is not every 
man that I would travel with two days in succes- 
sion." And, thought I, it is not every man would 
travel in your company two days in succession. 
"Which way are you going?" I asked him. "To- 
wards Northampton," said he. "Alas," I answered, 
"my direction is altogether different." 

We now entered the "Cock," and after calling 
for two glasses of ale, enquired as to accommoda- 
tion for travellers, which we were informed was 
good, there being plenty of room. Sometimes, if 
ale is not called for, they are disinclined to letting 
beds, especially in the winter, when they find so 
little difficulty in filling the house. 

[301] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

On entering the kitchen we found it occupied by 
a number of men, some of whom recognised my 
fellow traveller, and spoke to him. But, strange to 
say, although this man had proved so garrulous with 
one for a companion, with the many he had very 
little to say, and sat in a corner all through the eve- 
ning smoking in silence, and paying no heed to others 
either by tongue, eye, or ear. Once or twice I saw 
his lips move, when filling his pipe, or knocking out 
its ashes, and I thought that he was perhaps re- 
hearsing and training his memory for the following 
day, in case he would be again fortunate in picking 
up with an easy fool like myself. For, no doubt, 
the poor old fellow had been often commanded to 
desist from reciting, and ordered to hell by impa- 
tient and unsympathetic men whom he had at first 
mistaken for quiet and good natured companions. 
I had not by a look or a word sought to offend him, 
but one day of his company was certainly enough. 



[302] 



CHAPTER XXX 

THE FORTUNE 

IT is not unusual to read of cases where men who 
have descended to the lowest forms of labour 
— aye, even become tramps — ^being sought and 
found as heirs to fortunes, left often by people who 
either had no power to will otherwise, or whom 
death had taken unawares. Therefore, when one 
fine morning a cab drove up to a beer-house, which 
was also a tramps' lodging house, and a well dressed 
gentleman entered and enquired of the landlord for 
a man named James Macquire — the landlord at 
once pronounced him to be a solicitor in quest of 
a lost heir. "Sir," said he, "we do not take the 
names of our lodgers, but several are now in the 
kitchen. James Macquire, you said'?" On receiv- 
ing answer in the affirmative the landlord at once 
visited the lodgers' kitchen, and standing at the door 
enquired in a very respectable manner if there was 
any gentleman present by the name of Macquire, 
whose christian name was James. At which a deli- 
cate looking man, who had arrived the previous night, 
sprang quickly to his feet and said in a surprised 
voice — "That is my name." "Well," said the land- 

[303] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

lord, "a gentleman wishes to see you at once; he 
came here in a cab, and, for your sake, I trust my 
surmises are right." 

With the exception of having on a good clean 
white shirt, the man Macquire was ill clad, and he 
looked ruefully at his clothes, and then at the land- 
lord. "Please ask the gentleman to wait," said he, 
and, going to the tap, began to wash his hands and 
face, after which he carefully combed his hair. 

The strange gentleman was seated quietly in the 
bar when the man Macquire presented himself, and 
the landlord was engaged in washing glasses and 
dusting decanters. "Mr. James Macquire^" asked 
the gentleman, rising and addressing the ill-clad one 
in a respectful manner, which the landlord could 
not help but notice. "That is my name," answered 
Macquire, with some dignity. "Do you know any- 
thing of Mr. Frederick Macquire, of Doggery Hall^" 
asked the gentleman. "I do," said the ill-clad one; 
and, after a long pause, and seeming to give the in- 
formation with much reluctance, he added — "Mr. 
Frederick Macquire, of Doggery Hall, is my uncle." 
Several other questions were asked and answered. 
"That will do, thank you," said the gentleman; 
"will you please call at the 'King's Head' and see 
me at seven p. m.? You have been advertised for 
since the death of Mr. Frederick Macquire, some 
weeks ago. Good morning," he said, shaking James 
Macquire by the hand in a highly respectful manner, 

[304] 



The Fortune 

as the landlord could not fail to see, totally regard- 
less of the man's rags. 

The ill-clad one stood at the bar speechless, ap- 
parently absorbed in deep thought. "What will you 
have to drink'?" asked the landlord kindly. 
"Whisky," answered Macquire, in a faint voice. 
After drinking this, and another, he seemed to re- 
cover his composure, and said to the landlord — 
"I am at present, as you must know, penniless, and 
you would greatly oblige me by the loan of a few 
shillings, say half a sovereign until I draw a couple 
of hundred pounds in advance. Whatever I re- 
ceive from you, you shall have a receipt, and, al- 
though nothing is said about interest, the amount 
owing will be doubled, aye trebled, you may rest 
assured of that, for I never forget a kindness." 
"You had better take a sovereign," said the land- 
lord, "and, of course, the Mrs. will supply any meals 
you may need, and drink is at your disposal." 
"Thank you," said Macquire, in a choking voice — 
"let me have a couple of pots of your best ale for 
the poor fellows in the kitchen." 

What a surprise for the poor lodgers when they 
were asked to drink Macquire's health! On being 
told of his good fortune, they one and all cheered 
and congratulated him. But the easy way in which 
this man Macquire threw his weight about the 
kitchen and, for that matter, the whole house was 
extraordinary. 

[305] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

Now it happened that there were at this house 
two stonemasons who, although heavy drinkers, had 
been working steady for a week or more, for their 
job was drawing to a close, and they knew not how 
many idle weeks might follow. These men were 
at breakfast and, being repeatedly offered drink, 
grew careless and resolved to quit work there and 
then and draw their money, which amounted to three 
pounds ten shillings between them. Macquire fa- 
voured this resolution and, said he, "Before your 
money is spent, I shall have a couple of hundred 
pounds at my disposal." The landlord was present 
at the passing of this resolution and, though he said 
nothing, apparently favoured it, for he laughed 
pleasantly. 

In less than half an hour Macquire and the two 
stonemasons were back in the lodging house kitchen, 
and drinking ale as fast as they possibly could. In 
a number of cases the former received money from 
his new friends to buy the beer, but, according to 
after developments he must have pocketed this 
money and had the beer entered to his account, in 
addition to that which he fetched of his own accord. 
However, when evening came Macquire, though 
seemingly possessed of business faculties, was not 
in a bodily condition to keep his lawyer's appoint- 
ment. As he himself confessed — "he was drunk in 
the legs, but sober in the brain." What an evening 
we had! Not one man in the house retired sober, 

[306] 



The Fortune 

and the kindness of the ill-clad one brought tears 
into a number of eyes, for he made the stonemasons 
spend their money freely, and he made the landlord 
fetch pot after pot, and all he did in the way of pay- 
ment was to utter that name, grown strangely power- 
ful — James Macquire. 

Now when the next morning came there seemed to 
be a suspicion that all was not right. For, as soon 
as James Macquire put in an appearance, one of the 
stonemasons abruptly asked when he intended to 
see the lawyer. At this moment the landlord en- 
tered, and, though he had not heard the question, 
he too, would like to know when Macquire intended 
seeing his lawyer. "Don't bother me," said Mac- 
quire, "you see what a state I am in, trembling 
after drink^" "I'll soon put you right," said the 
landlord, leaving the kitchen, and entering the bar. 

The stonemasons offered their future benefactor 
a drink of beer, which he waved aside, saying that 
he must first have a short drink to steady his stomach. 
"You don't mind giving me a saucerful of your tea*?" 
said Macquire to me, for I was then at breakfast. 
"With pleasure," said I, and, filling the saucer 
pushed it towards him. "Thank you," said he, 
after drinking it — "that saucer of tea has cost me a 
sovereign!" "Nonsense," said I, inwardly pleased, 
"it is of no value whatever." "Have you any to- 
bacco*?" he asked. At this question one of the 
stonemasons, in fear that Macquire would promise 

[307] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

me more money, sprang forward with tobacco. "I 
am not asking you for tobacco," said Macquire slowly 
— "but am asking this gentleman." This was said 
in such a way as could not give offence; as much as 
to say that he already knew that the stonemason's 
heart was good, but that he felt disposed to test 
mine and, if he found it generous, he would not for- 
get me when he came into his estate. Not setting 
great value on a pipeful of tobacco, I offered him 
my pouch to help himself. After he had filled his 
pipe, he said, in an abrupt manner, as he was walk- 
ing towards the bar — "Please remember, friend, I 
am five pounds in your debt." "What a fine fellow 
he is," said the stonemason to me; "for the few kind- 
nesses we did him yesterday, he has promised me and 
my pal twenty pounds each out of his first advance, 
and larger sums to follow." 

At this moment the postman entered with a letter 
addressed to James Macquire, Esq. If the land- 
lord, or any one else, had the least suspicion earlier 
in the morning, it certainly vanished at the sight of 
this letter. Macquire opened the letter and, after 
reading it, passed it to the landlord. That gentle- 
man's face beamed with satisfaction, although it was 
but an ordinary note saying that the lawyer had 
expected Macquire the night previous, and trusted 
that he would keep the appointment at the same 
hour on the following day, by which time the law- 
yer would be able to advance him some money. 

[308] 



The Fortune 

"That's something like business," said Macquire, to 
which every one agreed, the landlord and the stone- 
masons showing the most approval. 

"Now," said James Macquire to the landlord, 
"you had better let me have some money." "What 
for^" asked that gentleman; "you can have any- 
thing that you require, as I told you before." 
"Just for my own satisfaction," said Macquire. "I 
am going to walk out for a while, so as to keep 
myself sober for business." "You can't go out in 
those rags," said the landlord — "you had better take 
my best suit." 

In ten minutes or less the ill-clad one was stand- 
ing at the bar in the landlord's best suit of clothes, 
after which the said landlord gave him all the money 
available, amounting to thirty shillings. "How 
much am I in your debt?" asked Macquire. "Oh, 
about three pounds," was the answer. "We will 
call it fifty pounds," cried Macquire and, drinking 
his whisky, he left the house, followed closely by 
the faithful stonemasons. 

In half an hour the stonemasons were back, having 
lost their companion in the market place, and were 
at the bar awaiting him, thinking he might have 
already returned. Yes, and they could wait, for 
that was the last of Macquire, and, to the surprise 
and mortification of the landlord and the two stone- 
masons, the house received no more visits or letters 
from lawyers. 

[309] 



CHAPTER XXXI 

SOME WAYS OF MAKING A LIVING 

NO doubt laces are the best stock to carry, for 
a gross of them can be had for eighteen 
pence, sometimes less, which, sold at a 
penny a pair, realises six shillings; and, counting the 
number of pennies that are tendered free in pity for 
the man's circumstances, who must be cunning 
enough to show only two or three pairs at a time — he 
has nothing to complain of in the end. Although he 
sometimes meets a lady who persists in regarding 
him as a trader and bargains for two pairs for three 
halfpence, and ultimately carries them off in tri- 
umph — in spite of his whine of not being able to 
make bed and board out of them — in spite of these 
rare instances, he must confess that in the end he 
has received eight or nine shillings for an outlay 
of eighteen pence, and, what is more, an abundance 
of free food. Then, again, laces are light, they are 
easy to carry and can be stored in one coat-pocket. 
Another great advantage is that although a man 
may get wet through, or roll on his laces in the grass, 
he does not spoil his living. In fact, if they be- 
come crumpled and twisted and their tags rusty, 

[310] 



Some Ways of Making a Living 

he makes them his testimony that he was wet 
through, being out all night, which story rarely fails 
in coppers and he still retains his laces. 

But with all these advantages of a light and profit- 
able stock, there are two men who scorn to carry 
even these and will not on any account make any 
pretence at selling. These two men are the gridler 
and the downrighter. The former sings hymns in 
the streets, and he makes his living by the sound of 
his voice. Professional singers are paid according 
to the richness, sweetness, and compass of their 
voices, but the gridler's profit increases as his vocal 
powers decline. The more shaky and harsh his voice 
becomes, the greater his reward. With a tongue 
like a rasp he smoothes the roughness off hard hearts. 
With a voice like an old hen he ushers in the golden 
egg. With a base mixture of treble, contralto and 
bass, he produces good metal which falls from top 
story windows, or is thrown from front doors, to 
drop at his feet with the true ring. Then, if the 
voice be immaterial, where lies the art of gridling*? 
No more or less than in the selection of hymns, 
which must be simple and pathetic and familiar to 
all. Let the gridler supply the words sufficiently 
to be understood, and the simple air with variations 
— a good gridler often misses parts of the air itself 
for breathing spells and in stooping for coppers — 
let him supply the words, I say, and his hearers will 
supply the feeling. For instance, if a gridler has 

[311] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

sung an old well known hymn fifty or sixty times a 
day for ten or fifteen years, he cannot reasonably 
be expected to be affected by the words. It would 
be extremely thoughtless to request of such an one 
an encore without giving a promise of further re- 
ward. In fact this man is really so weary of song 
that if there is any merry making at the lodging 
house, he is the one man who will not sing, not even 
under the influence of drink; and, what is more no 
man would invite him for, being a gridler and earn- 
ing his living by song, we know well that his voice 
is spoilt, and that he cannot sing. The gridler con- 
siders himself to be at the top of the begging pro- 
fession, for his stock never gets low, nor requires 
replenishing; and his voice is only a Httle weak 
thing of no weight, the notes of which are born into 
the world from his throat, and was never roused 
from sleep in the depths of his chest. There is no 
strain or effort in giving these notes to the world — 
despite the gridler's affectations — and he neither 
grows pale nor red with the exertion. 

But the downrighter not only scorns grinders, ped- 
lars, etc., but he even despises the gridler for being 
a hard worker. "I," says he, "do not carry laces, 
needles, matches, or anything else; and I do not 
advertise my presence to the police by singing in 
the streets. If people are not in the front of the 
house, I seek them at the back, where a gridler's 
voice may not reach them. I am not satisfied with 

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Some Ways of Making a Living 

getting a penny for a farthing pair of laces — I get 
the whole penny for nothing. People never mis- 
take me for a trader, for I exhibit no wares, and tell 
them straightforward that I am begging the price 
of my supper and bed." 

The fact of the matter is that all these men have 
different ways of making a living, and each man 
thinks his own way the best and fears to make new 
experiments, such an opinion being good for the 
trade of begging. Sometimes, owing to the vigi- 
lance of the police, and their strict laws, the gridler 
has to resort to downright begging, but his heart 
is not in the business, and he is for that reason un- 
successful. He longs to get in some quiet side street 
where he can chant slowly his well known hymns. 
But everything is in favour of the more silent down- 
righter; who allows nothing to escape him, neither 
stores, private or public houses, nor pedestrians. All 
he is required to do is to keep himself looking some- 
thing like a working man, and he receives more 
charity in the alehouse by a straightforward appeal 
as an unemployed workman, than another who 
wastes his time in giving a song and a dance. Peo- 
ple often hurry past when they hear a man singing, 
or see one approaching with matches or laces, but 
the downrighter claims their attention before they 
suspect his business. 

When I met Long John at Oxford, we had much 
talk of the merits of different parts of a beggar's 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

profession. He, it seemed, had carried laces; he 
had also gridled sacred hymns in the streets, and 
sung sporting songs in the alehouses; he had even 
exerted himself as a dancer, "but," said he, "I must 
confess, after all, that as a downrighter my profits 
are larger, at the expenditure of far less energy." 

In the course of conversation Long John informed 
me that he also was travelling London way, and if 
I was agreeable we would start together on the fol- 
lowing morning. "And," said he, in a whisper, so 
that other lodgers might not hear — "there is a house 
on our way that is good for a shilling each. He 
is a very rich man and has been an officer in the 
army. He pretends to be prejudiced against old 
soldiers, and when they appeal to him, he first abuses 
them, after which he drills them and, after abusing 
them again rewards each with a two shilling piece. 
Do you know the drills?" "No," I answered, "I 
have never been in the army." "That is a great 
pity," .said Long John, "for we lose a shilling each. 
However, we will not say that we are old soldiers, 
for fear of losing all, and be satisfied with the two 
shillings between us." So it was agreed. 

In less than two hours we were at the gentleman's 
lodge. Passing boldly through the gates we fol- 
lowed the drive until we saw before us a fine large 
mansion. Reaching the front door we rang the bell, 
which was soon answered by a servant. To our 
enquiries as to whether the master was in the servant 

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Some Ways of Making a Living 

replied in the negative, but intimated that the mis- 
tress was. Of course, this made not the least dif- 
ference, as many a tramp knew, except that had we 
been old soldiers the lady not being able to test us 
by drill, would therefore not have given more than 
the civilian's shilling. Now, almost unfortunately 
for us, the downrighter, knowing that the lady 
would not drill us, and thinking that there might be 
a possibility of getting the master's double pay to 
old soldiers, without danger of drill or cross examina- 
tion — suddenly made up his mind to say that we 
were two old soldiers. For, thought he, if it does 
no good, it cannot do any harm. Therefore, when 
the lady appeared smiling at the door Long John, 
being spokesman, told a straightforward tale of hard- 
ship, and added that we had both served our country 
on the battlefield as soldiers. He had scarcely men- 
tioned the word soldiers when a loud authoritative 
voice behind us cried — "Shoulder Arms I" I was 
leaning heavily on a thick stick when this command 
was given, but lost my balance and almost fell to 
the ground. We both turned our faces towards the 
speaker and saw a tall military looking gentleman 
scrutinising us with two very sharp eyes. Giving 
us but very little time to compose ourselves he 
shouted again — "Present Arms !" This second com- 
mand was no more obeyed than the first. Long 
John blew his nose, and I stood at ease on my staff, 
as though I did not care whether the dogs were set 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

upon us or we were to be lodged in jail. After an- 
other uncomfortable pause the retired oiEBcer said, 
looking at us severely — "Two old soldiers, indeed! 
You are two imposters and scoundrels I Perhaps you 
understand this command" — and in a voice fiercer 
and louder than ever he cried, "Quick March I" 
Long John and I, although not old soldiers, certainly 
understood this command, for we started down the 
drive at a good pace, with the military looking gen- 
tleman following. When we reached the public 
road, he gave another command — "Haiti" But 
this was another of those commands which we did 
not understand. However, on its being repeated 
less sternly we obeyed. "Here," said he, "you are 
not two old soldiers, but you may not be altogether 
scoundrels; and I never turn men away without giv- 
ing them some assistance." Saying which he gave 
us a shilling each. But what a narrow escape we 
had of being turned penniless away, all through Long 
John's greed and folly I 



[316] 



CHAPTER XXXII 

AT LAST 

IN spite of these occasional successes with Long 
John and others, I was often at my wits' ends 
to procure food and shelter. This always hap- 
pened when I travelled alone. I was now heartily 
sick of this wandering from town to town, and every 
day seemed to get more unfortunate; until the first 
day in December, when, forced by extreme want, I 
resolved to enter the city at once, knowing that a 
pound was already there waiting my pleasure. That 
night I was back in the Farmhouse; and what a 
genial spirit seemed to animate the old coke fire I 
Not at all like the death dealer, the waster of time, 
who robbed a human being of his energy and a kitten 
of its play. Oh, no ; for this one night we were the 
best of friends, and sunny smiles passed between us 
until bed time. 

I had been away five months, and would still have 
to suffer owing to this early return; knowing that 
I would not have courage to sell in the streets of 
London, and that I would be compelled to eke out 
a living on five shillings a week, until the beginning 
of the new year — this being a half crown for lodg- 
ings, and the same for food. 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

I was very well satisfied with myself at this time, 
with the prospect of the new year before me; and 
at once began to get my work ready for the press. 
When all original composition was done, and it was 
necessary to make ready a copy for the printer, even 
at this time I was confronted with a foolish hin- 
drance. One library in Lambeth, which at one time 
had a table with pens, ink and blotting pads for 
the convenience of visitors, had had these things re- 
moved; but seeing no sign to the contrary, I still 
thought I would be allowed to take possession of 
a corner of this table and write, providing I sup- 
plied my own material. So, this library was chosen 
for my week's writing, but I was warned off at the 
commencement. Thoroughly incensed at this fresh 
and paltry hindrance, I sought a library where I 
knew my work could be continued without inter- 
ference, even if the writing of it took some years. 
This library was not so convenient as the other, be- 
ing some distance away, but there I at last succeeded 
in performing my task. 

Now came the new year when, independent of 
others, I would be enabled to assist myself. If I 
failed in making success, the disappointment would 
be mine only, and if I succeeded, there would be 
none other to thank but myself. On receiving this 
money, in the first week in January, I lost no time 
in seeing the printer and arranging for an edition 
of two hundred and fifty copies, the cost to be nine- 

[318] 



At Last 

teen pounds. This amount certainly did not cover 
expenses, and here began the series of kindnesses 
which, after a few more disappointments, were to 
follow. This printer placed the MS. in the hands 
of a good reader, and that gentleman was put to 
considerable trouble, being baffled and interested in 
turns. The last two lines of a poem entitled "The 
hill side park" are entirely his, both in thought and 
expression. I mention this because two or three 
correspondents liked the poem in question, and one 
thought the last two lines the best; so, I take this 
opportunity to clear my conscience. There was 
nothing to complain of, both printer and reader 
being at great pains and patience to make the work 
better than it was. Naturally, I thought if there 
was any interest shown, it would not be in the 
author's personality, but in the work itself, and for 
this reason, gave the Farmhouse, a common lodging 
house, as my address. I was under the impression 
that people would uninterestedly think the Farm- 
house to be a small printing establishment, or a small 
publishing concern of which they had not heard; to 
which they would forward their orders, and business 
would be transacted without their being any the 
wiser. In the first week in March I received my 
first printed copy. 

The printer had sent thirty copies or more to the 
various papers, and I was now waiting the result, 
which at last came in the shape of two very slim 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

reviews from the North; a Yorkshire paper saying 
that the work had rhymes that were neither intricate 
nor original, and a Scotch paper saying that the 
work was perfect in craftsmanship rather than in- 
spired. This was very disappointing, more so to 
know that others, who were powerless to assist me, 
were interesting themselves on my behalf. Al- 
though I still had confidence that the work contained 
some good things, I began to think that there must 
be some glaring faults which made the book, as a 
whole, impossible to review. This first thought be- 
came my first belief when other notices did not fol- 
low. 

Weeks and weeks went by and, having now started 
to drink, and losing control of my will in this dis- 
appointment, I had come down to my last ten shill- 
ings, and had a good seven months to go before 
my money was again due. First of all I had serious 
thoughts of destroying this work — the whole two 
hundred and odd copies, which were under lock and 
key in my room, and to then set to work carefully 
on new matter, and, when my income was again due, 
to again mortgage it in another attempt. Being 
very impulsive, this no doubt would have been there 
and then commenced, had I not been confronted 
with the difficulty of doing so. There was only 
one way of doing this properly, and that was by 
fire, which would require privacy. My room was 
the only place where I could do this without being 

[320] 



At Last 

seen, but that contained neither stove nor grate ; and, 
even if it had, two hundred books would take a num- 
ber of sleepless nights to render into ashes. I 
thought with some bitterness of having to go on 
tramp again, and it was in one of these bitter mo- 
ments that I swore a great oath that these copies, 
good or bad, should maintain me until the end of 
the year. For I would distribute the books here and 
there, sending them to successful people, and they 
would probably pay for their copies, perhaps not 
so much for what merit they might think the work 
contained, as for the sake of circumstances. This idea 
no sooner possessed me than I began preparing for 
its execution. For this purpose I obtained stamps 
and envelopes, and six copies were at once posted. 
The result was seen in a couple of days — three let- 
ters, two containing the price of the book, and the 
third from the Charity Organisation, the latter writ- 
ing on behalf of a gentleman who had become in- 
terested, and would like to come to my assistance. 
Remembering these people in the past, through my 
former experience with them, I had no great hopes 
at the present time, in spite of the kind hearted in- 
terest of the gentleman in question. However, I 
called on them the next morning, and after the usual 
long wait in a side room — which, I believe, is not 
through any great stress of business, but so as to 
bring one's heart down to the freezing point of ab- 
ject misery, and to extinguish one by one his many 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

hopes — after this weary waiting, I received an inter- 
view. There is not sufficient venom in my disposi- 
tion to allow me to describe this meeting in words 
fit and bitter for its need. This life is too short to 
enable me to recover from my astonishment, which 
will fill me for a good many years to come. The 
questions and answers which had passed between us 
on our former interview, — two years previous, were 
now before them. But they questioned again in the 
same strain, and my answers corresponded with those 
of the past, for I told no lies. Apparently they had 
no chance here, so they came at once to the business 
in had. "You have written to a gentleman, asking 
for his assistance^" Not liking this way of ex- 
plaining my conduct, I said — "No, not exactly that, 
but have been trying to sell him some work that I 
had done." It seemed that they knew nothing of 
this work — or that it better suited their purpose to 
appear ignorant — so it was necessary to give them 
the full particulars. "Was not the book a suc- 
cess'?" they asked. Not caring to admit failure, 
and still thinking the work worthy of a little suc- 
cess, I answered — "Not yet, but it is too early to 
judge it as a failure." Then I gave it in confidence 
that a gentleman, well known in Southwark, and 
who often wrote articles on literary subjects, had 
promised to review it in one of the evening papers, 
which might lead to other notices. "What is the 
name of this gentleman?" The name was at once 

[322] 



At Last 

mentioned, for there was no reason that I knew of, 
to withhold it. But instead of this name doing 
me good, as I then expected, it probably made this 
case of mine more unfavorable; for I have been told 
since that this gentleman had more than once at- 
tacked the ways and methods of this Organisation, 
both on the public platform and through the press. 
Not knowing this, at that time, I thought it ex- 
tremely fortunate to be enabled to mention the fa- 
vour of such a well known local man. All went 
smoothly for a while — although I could plainly see 
that these people did not recognise the writing of 
books as work, and were plainly disgusted at the 
folly of sacrificing an income to that end. Their 
next question confirmed this opinion — "Do you ever 
do anything for a living*?" I mentioned that I had 
tramped the country as a hawker, during the pre- 
vious summer, but had suffered through want of 
courage, could not make anything like a living, and 
was often in want and without shelter. There was 
a rather long pause, and the Charity Organisation 
rose slowly to their feet, and said — "Mr. Davies, 
do you really expect this gentleman, who has writ- 
ten to us, to maintain you? Is there anything the 
matter with you?" What was the matter with me 
did not seem to escape many people, and it was 
most certainly noted by the smallest toddler that 
played in the street, but the Charity Organisation 
did not think proper to recognise any other than an 

[323] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

able man, strong in the use of all his limbs. "No," 
said these people, "you must do the same as you 
did last summer;" which, in other words was — go 
on tramp, starve, and be shelterless as you were be- 
fore. And then in the deep silence which followed, 
for I was speechless with indignation, a voice soft 
and low, but emphatic and significant, said — "We 
strongly advise you to do this, but you really must 
not write any more begging letters. Mr. Davies, 
we do not consider ourselves justified in putting your 
case before the committee." That ended the inter- 
view, and I left them with the one sarcastic remark, 
which I could not keep unsaid, "that I had not come 
there with any great hopes of receiving benefit, and 
that I was not leaving greatly disappointed at this 
result." These people passed judgment in a few 
minutes, and were so confident that they did not 
think it worth while to call at the Farmhouse for the 
opinion of a man who had known me for a considera- 
ble time. No doubt they had made another mistake. 
For, some time before this, an old pensioner, an old 
lodger of the Farmhouse, had interviewed these peo- 
ple, telling them a story of poverty, and of starving 
wife and children. The story was a fabrication 
from beginning to end, yet they assisted this man 
on his bare word to the extent of ten shillings, so 
as to enable him to lie about the Farmhouse drunk 
for several days. Then, some days after this, the 
Charity Organisation called at the Farmhouse to see 

[324] 



At Last 

the manager, and to make enquiries of this man whom 
they had so mysteriously befriended. "What," 
cried that gentleman, "you have assisted this 
drunken fellow on his bare word, and when I send 
cases to you, that I know are deserving, you sternly 
refuse to entertain them." Perhaps it was this in- 
stance, fresh in their minds, which gave them an 
idea that no good could come out of the Farmhouse. 
Yet, as far as my experience goes, the object of these 
people was not so much to do good, but to prevent 
good from being done ; for here, for the second time, 
they stepped between me and one who might have 
rendered me some aid. What I found the most 
distasteful part of their system was the way in 
which they conceal the name of a would-be bene- 
factor. I had sent six books, three to men and 
three to women. One man had replied with a kind 
encouraging letter and the price of the book en- 
closed, and one of the two others had written to 
the Organisation, but, on no account, would they 
mention his name. Now, when these people answer 
a letter of enquiry, they have no other option than 
to say one of two things — either that the applicant 
is an impostor, and deserves no notice, or that the 
case is genuine and deserving consideration. They, 
of course, answered in the former strain, withhold- 
ing the gentleman's name, so as to leave no oppor- 
tunity to vindicate one's character. 

The interference of these people put me on my 
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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

mettle, and I was determined not to follow their 
advice and tramp through another hard winter. I 
had something like three shillings, at the time of 
this interview; so, buying two shillings' worth of 
stamps, I posted a dozen books that very night, 
being still warm with resentment. The result of 
these were four kind letters, each containing the 
price of the book. Only one or two were returned 
to me, whether purchased or not, which was done 
at my own wish. Before I again became penniless, 
off went another dozen. In this way I disposed of 
some sixty copies, with more or less success; some 
of these well known people receiving the book as 
an unacknowledged gift, and others quickly for- 
warding the price of the same. The strangest part 
of this experience was this: that people, from 
whom I expected sympathy, having seen their 
names so often mentioned as champions of unfortu- 
nate cases, received the book as a gift; whilst 
others, from whom I had less hope, because they 
appeared sarcastic and unfeeling in their writings, 
returned the price of the work. The Manager was 
astonished at my receiving no answer from two or 
three well known people whom he had recommended. 
At last, after disposing of sixty copies in this way, 
two well known writers corresponded with me, one 
of whom I saw personally, and they both promised 
to do something through the press. Relying on 
these promises, I sent away no more copies, being 

[326] 



At Last 

enabled to wait a week or two owing to the kind- 
ness of a playwriter, an Irishman, as to whose men- 
tal qualification the world is divided, but whose 
heart is unquestionably great. Private recognition 
was certainly not long forthcoming, which was soon 
followed by a notice in a leading daily paper, and 
in a literary paper of the same week. These led 
to others, to interviews and a kindness that more 
than made amends for past indifference. It was 
all like a dream. In my most conceited moments 
I had not expected such an amount of praise, and 
they gathered in favour as they came, until one 
wave came stronger than the others and threw me 
breathless of all conceit, for I felt myself unworthy 
of it, and of the wonderful sea on which I had 
embarked. Sleep was out of the question, and new 
work was impossible. What surprised me agree- 
ably was the reticence of my fellow lodgers, who 
all knew, but mentioned nothing in my hearing 
that was in any way disconcerting. They were, 
perhaps, a little less familiar, but showed not the 
least disrespect in their reserve, as would most cer- 
tainly have been the case if I had succeeded to a peer- 
age or an immense fortune. The lines on Irish 
Tim, which were several times quoted, were a 
continual worry to me, thinking some of the more 
waggish lodgers would bring them to his notice. 
Poor Tim, no doubt, would have sulked, resenting 
this publicity, but, if the truth were known, I would 

[327] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

as soon do Tim a good turn as any other man in the 
Farmhouse. Boozy Bob, I suppose, had been 
shown his name in print; but Bob thought it a 
great honour to be called Boozy; so, when he stood 
drunk before me, with his face beaming with smiles 
of gratitude for making use of his name, at the 
same time saying — "Good evening, Mr. Davies, how 
are you^" — I at once understood the meaning of 
this unusual civility, and we both fell a-laughing, 
but nothing more was said. What a lot of decent, 
honest fellows these were: "You must not be sur- 
prised," said a gentleman to me, at that time, "to 
meet less sincere men than these in other walks of 
life." I shall consider myself fortunate in not 
doing so. 



[328] 



CHAPTER XXXIII 

SUCCESS 

HOWEVER much cause I may have at some 
future date to complain of severe criticism, 
I have certainly no complaint up to the 
present against any connected with the making of 
books. Some half a dozen lines of work were sub- 
mitted to publishers, and three times I received 
letters with a view to publication, which, of course, 
failed through the want of friends to assist me. 
Knowing how rough and unequal the work was, and 
that critics could find — if so inclined — plenty to 
justify extreme severity, has undeceived me as to 
my former unreasonable opinion, that critics were 
more prone to cavil than to praise. I would like 
it to be understood that I say this without bidding 
for any future indulgence ; for I am thankful to any 
man who will show me my faults, and am always 
open to advice. 

As I have said, the first notice appeared in a 
leading daily paper, a full column, in which I saw 
myself described, a rough sketch of the ups and 
downs of my life, in short telling sentences, with 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

quotations from my work. The effect of this was 
almost instantaneous, for correspondence immedi- 
ately followed. Letters came by every post. Of 
course, all my thoughts had been concentrated on 
the reading world, so that I was much surprised 
when two young men came to the house and re- 
quested a photo for an illustrated paper. I could 
not oblige them at that moment, but with a heart 
overflowing with gratitude was persuaded to accom- 
pany them at once to the nearest photographer, 
now that interest was at its high point. "Now," 
said one of these young men, when I was on my 
way with them, delighted with this mission — "now, 
if you could give me a few lines on the war in the 
East, to go with your photograph, it would be of 
much greater interest to the public." Not caring 
to blow the froth off my mind in this indifferent 
manner, and feeling too conscientious to take ad- 
vantage of public interest by writing in such haste, 
which, to tell the truth, appeared a difficult task 
— I quickly turned the subject to other matters, 
thinking he would soon forget his request. But it 
was of no use; for, every other step or two, he 
wanted to be informed whether I was concentrating 
my mind on the war. At last, being under the 
impression that my natural reserve and feeble at- 
tempts at conversation would lead him to believe 
that something was being done in that direction, I 
made a great effort to become voluble, and, I 

[330] 



Success 

believe, succeeded until the photograph was taken. 
When I left him, his last question was — "What 
about the war?" 

The next morning, after the last mentioned 
episode, being Sunday, I was enjoying a stroll 
through the city, which is so very quiet on this one 
morning of the week; and was thinking of nothing 
else but my own affairs, more especially of the 
photo that was soon to appear. The street was 
forsaken, with the exception — yes, there they were: 
two men with a camera, and both of them looking 
my way, anxiously awaiting my approach. "This," 
I said to myself, "is fame with a vengeance." I 
felt a little mortification at being expected to un- 
dergo this operation in the public streets. One of 
these photographers quickly stepped forward to 
meet me, and, smiling blandly, requested me kindly 
to stand for a moment where I was. It certainly 
shocked and mortified me more to learn that they 
desired to photograph an old fashioned dwelling 
of brick and mortar, and that they considered my 
presence as no adornment to the front. 

A few days after this first review, a critic of 
fine literature, who had interested himself privately 
on my behalf, sent a notice to a weekly literary 
paper; and it was the respect due to this man's 
name that drew the attention of some other papers 
of good standing, for their representatives mentioned 
this man's name with every respect, knowing, at 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

the same time, that he would not waste his hours on 
what was absolutely worthless. 

What kind hearted correspondents I had, and 
what offers they made, what questions they asked! 
and all of them received grateful answers — with 
one exception. This gentleman, who did not 
require a book, presumably being more interested 
in the strange conditions under which I had lived 
and worked, offered me a pleasant home in the 
country, where I could cultivate my talents sur- 
rounded with a little more comfort and quieter 
scenes. The letter was long, delightful, poetical, 
and worked warmly on my imagination, sentence 
for sentence; until the last sentence came like a 
douche of cold water on a warm body — "Of course," 
finished this gentleman, "it is necessary to supply me 
with strict references as to honesty and respecta- 
bility." Where was I to get these? after having 
failed to get a library form signed, which would 
entitle me to borrow books. No doubt the manager 
of the Farmhouse would have willingly done the 
latter, as was afterwards done by him, but I was 
then under the impression that the keeper of a 
lodging house was ineligible for such a purpose, 
knowing this to have been the case elsewhere. 
Where could I obtain these references, seeing that 
I knew no one who would take the responsibility 
of doing such a petty kindness as signing a library 
form? This gentleman's letter, I need scarcely say, 

[332] 



Success 

remained unanswered, for which, I believe, none 
will blame me. 

Several other letters were received, which I found 
extremely difficult to answer. One addressed me 
familiarly in rhyme, beginning — "Dear brother poet, 
brother Will;" and went on to propose that we 
two should take a firm stand together, side by side, 
to the everlasting benefit of poetry and posterity. 

Another had written verse, and would be glad to 
find a publisher, and another could, and would, do 
me many a good turn, if I felt inclined to correct 
his work, and to add lines here and there as needed. 
Not for a moment would I hold these people to 
ridicule, but it brought to mind that I was without 
a publisher for my own work, and I believed, in all 
sincerity, that better work than mine might go beg- 
ging, as it often had. 

In the main my correspondents were kind, sym- 
pathetic and sensible, making genuine offers of 
assistance, for which I thanked them with all my 
heart, but thought myself now beyond the neces- 
sity of accepting them. 

As a matter of fact, no one man in a common 
lodging house is supposed to be regarded with any 
special favour. The common kitchen is his library, 
his dining room and his parlour, and better accom- 
modation cannot be expected at the low price of 
fourpence per night. We are all equal, without a 
question of what a man's past may have been, or 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

what his future is likely to realise. Any man who 
puts on superior airs is invariably subjected to this 
sarcastic enquiry — "How much do you pay?" or 
the incontrovertible remark that one man's four- 
pence is as good as another's. The Manager has 
to use great tact in not indulging in too long a con- 
versation with one particular man, and a lodger 
must not jeopardise his popularity by an over- 
weening anxiety to exchange civilities, or to repose 
confidence in those who are in authority; for these 
lodgers are in general distrustful and suspicious. 
If a fish porter — a good number of these men were 
here — was warned after any misconduct, he would 
turn to one of his pals and say — "Billingsgate, I 
see, is not favoured in this place." And if a paper- 
seller — of which there were about an equal number 
— was called to account in the same way, his remark 
would be that had he been a fish porter the mis- 
conduct would have been overlooked. Such was 
the state of feeling in the Farmhouse, although the 
caretaker, time after time, almost daily, reiterated 
the remark that one man was as good as another, 
and that no distinction was made between the two 
classes. Knowing this state of feeling, and the 
child-like distrust and jealousy of these honest fel- 
lows, it was no wonder that I felt a little awkward 
at the change of circumstances; for, after all, I 
was still a lodger, and paying no more than them 
for the same conveniences. In spite of this, I don't 

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Success 

believe I suffered the least in popularity when the 
Manager, determined that I should not suffer any 
longer for want of privacy to pursue my aims, threw 
open his own private rooms for my convenience. 
And, every time I took advantage of his kindness, 
the Manager's wife would take advantage of this 
by supplying a hot dinner or tea, as the hour might 
be, so that my studies might not be interrupted, 
or food postponed through an anxiety to perform a 
certain task. 

The Manager was astonished at my success, and, 
after he had read several notices, it certainly must 
have made him bitter against those whom he had 
approached on my behalf. "Yes," he said, "I must 
confess to failure, in your case, and I am left won- 
dering as to what kind of cases these people con- 
sider worthy of assistance." The man, being in 
a subordinate position, dare not openly speak his 
thoughts, or appear to force the hands of those rich 
visitors, but he certainly lost no opportunity in show- 
ing some honest Irish blood in his references to 
the Charity Organisation. "Miss So and So has 
been here," said he, one morning; "and I lost no 
time in relating your experience with the Charity 
Organisation. She was very much offended and 
shocked, and she has now gone there to seek some 
explanation." "As for that," I answered, knowing 
these people had all the power to make good their 
own case, and that I would not be called upon to 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

sift the false from the true — "As for that, this lady 
will return satisfied, as you will see." The Manager 
did not altogether believe this, saying that he 
thought the lady in question was not a blind be- 
liever in anything, and had an unusual amount of 
common sense. She certainly did return satisfied, 
saying that she thought they were justified in their 
conduct, to a certain extent. On being questioned 
by the Manager, who claimed it justice that the 
truth should be known, she said that she dare not 
make public the sayings and doings of the Society. 
I am now giving my experiences honestly and 
truthfully, and thought for thought, if not word for 
word, as they happened. As a man whose ambition 
above all other things is to impress every one fav- 
ourably, I have come to the conclusion that my work 
has been praised far more than its worth, owing 
to having met the writers of some of those articles, 
and impressing them in a simple, honest way. I 
am writing these experiences with a full knowledge 
of human nature, knowing that many people will 
remark: "Take no heed of that man, for he has 
not a good word for any one or anything;" but, 
as far as my knowledge and experience goes it is 
the truth, and, if that seems false and sensational, 
it is no fault of mine. Certainly I have led a worth- 
less, wandering and lazy life, with, in my early 
days, a strong dislike to continued labour, and inca- 
pacitated from the same in later years. No person 

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Success 

seemed inclined to start me on the road to fame, 
but, as soon as I had made an audacious step or 
two, I was taken up, passed quickly on from stage 
to stage, and given free rides farther than I expected. 



[337I 



CHAPTER XXXIV 

A HOUSE TO LET 

APPARENTLY the ill luck which had pur- 
sued me so close in the past, would not 
let me escape without another scratch. In 
my pleasant walks in my native town, my eye hap- 
pened to fall on a beautiful house, untenanted in 
a neighbourhood so quiet that every other house 
seemed to be the same. The very name, Woodland 
Road, was an address for a poet. It was a four 
storied villa, standing on the tpp of a hilly road, 
from where one could see on a clear mistless day 
the meeting of the Severn and the Bristol Channel; 
and, looking in another direction, could see the whole 
town without hearing one of its many voices. Un- 
fortunately, I coveted this house as a tenant, think- 
ing to get more pleasure in one glance from its 
top window on a bright summer's morning than 
from the perusal of many books. Even now, in 
Winter, it presented a warm, comfortable appear- 
ance, with its evergreens and its ivied walls. A 
tall, spreading rose bush stood facing its lowest 
window, and I imagined the bashful red roses look- 

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A House to Let 

ing in at me, as though I would not come out of 
doors to please them. There were primrose leaves 
green on the rockery, and one yellow flower still 
stood, withered and bent, in this last week of 
November. There was also an apple tree and a 
pear tree, so that the front of the house was both 
a park and an orchard. Blackbirds, robins, and 
thrushes visited the grounds daily; and I believe 
that this house was their nearest approach to town. 
It only wanted a few touches of Spring, and here 
were shady nooks, and leafy boughs for birds to 
sing unseeing and unseen. Thinking that this 
beautiful place would not remain untenanted for 
long, I at once made application, being recommended 
by my old master of the days of my apprenticeship. 
Had I known that the house was always empty and 
untenanted, and that people came and went at short 
notice, I should certainly not have been in such a 
hurry to take possession, in spite of its natural 
beauties. It was neither haunted by ghosts nor ani- 
mal noises, but by the landlady, who lived in the 
next house. This lady I did not see, nor have I 
seen her up to the present time, one of my family 
having taken the place in my name. Probably if 
I had transacted business personally, and had had an 
opportunity of seeing this landlady's face, I had not 
coveted the house, and, according to a right judg- 
ment of human nature, would have saved myself 
the money and disappointment that was to follow. 

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The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

However, the house became mine, and I received the 
key which was to let me possess this house and 
its interesting grounds. 

I idled a week about town descanting with great 
pleasure on the beauties of my future home; but 
I was somewhat taken by surprise at the unfavour- 
able reception with which my news was received. 
"Who is the landlady?" asked one. "Mrs. S," 
I answered; "she lives next door." "It is very 
unfortunate," said this person, "that the landlady 
lives next door." "Every one can please them- 
selves," said another, "but as for myself, I would 
never dream of living next door to my landlady." 
"What": cried another, "the landlady lives next 
door? What a great pity, to be sure." Although 
the last named depredator was the respectable 
wife of a retired tradesman, and had given her own 
landlady satisfaction for a number of years; in spite 
of this, I was highly amused at these remarks, 
taking the uncharitable view that these people were 
really not so respectable as they seemed, and would 
not be allowed to live under the watchful eyes of 
a particular person. My landlady, I thought, be 
she ever so watchful, dare not interfere without 
some cause; and, as the house must needs be kept 
very quiet for my own purpose of study, noises 
that are not allowed to reach me in the same house, 
surely will not be able to reach the house next 
door. 

[340] 



A House to Let 

The eventful day arrived, and I gathered together 
my small family, one from her limited possession 
of two small rooms, being very pleased to have me 
with her, which could not otherwise have been. 
At last we were in full possession, and at once 
proceeded to arrange the furniture, and to make the 
house comfortable. On the second day I began to 
work in earnest, having been unsettled and indis- 
posed for several weeks. When I came downstairs 
to dinner, on this second day, I was informed that 
the landlady had already been there to say that 
she objected to us keeping animals. On being told 
there was not the least intention of doing the same, 
she said that she certainly thought such was our 
intention, seeing that we were in possession of wood, 
and that she strongly objected to any other than 
that which could be kept indoors. The wood, 
which had caused all this suspicion, was simply a 
clothes prop and three shelves which had not yet 
been removed from where they were first placed. 
I laughed heartily at this unwarranted interference, 
but the feminine portion of the family strongly 
resented it. 

The third day I continued my work, the others 
again working on the comfort of this large house; 
one being outside trimming the evergreens, and 
taking a general pride in our half orchard and half 
park. Ditto the third day, and so on day after 
day, until the rent became due. This was the first 

[341] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

time for me to take a personal hand in my affairs, 
and, when the agent called, I thought it more busi- 
ness like to put in an appearance, for the first rent 
day, at least, seeing that the house was in my name, 
after which others might attend to it. I paid the 
rent, 9s. 6d. — the house, as I have said, was a fine 
large villa, and was really worth fifteen or sixteen 
shillings a week; and this small amount demanded 
for it, was a mystery at which any sensible person 
would have sniffed. This agent then gave me a 
book, with the rent entered to my account. After 
this he handed me a letter, which, said he, was sent 
from the office. Not dreaming of its contents, I 
there and then opened this letter, and to my aston- 
ishment saw that it was a notice to quit within one 
week of that date, at the orders of Messrs. H. and 
B., her solicitors. This notice was a severe blow, 
for, up till then, the place had been unsettled, and 
we had only been enjoying the expectation of future 
comfort. "Who, or what does this lady object to*?" 
I asked the agent, with some bitterness. "I need 
absolute quiet for my work, and the amount I have 
done in the past week proves that I have had it. 
What then has disturbed my landlady, that has not 
interfered with my work"? To make a person suffer 
the expense, and worse, the worry of moving twice 
in a few days, should not be done without due 
consideration, and some definite reason." But the 
agent knew or pretended to know nothing of the 

[342] 



A House to Let 

affair, and he left me at the door, feeling more 
shame and mortification than I have ever felt before. 
There was nothing else to do but to pack up again 
as soon as possible and to seek fresh quarters, which, 
after great difficulty, were found. 

To think that I have lived thirty-five years, and 
not to have known the folly and ill policy of living 
next door to one's landlady I But this particular 
landlady is eccentric, can afford to be independent, 
and I verily believe she would not sell a house for 
even twice its worth if she thought the would-be 
purchaser to be a man incapable of taking charge of 
property. Her house is more often unoccupied than 
let, as I have since been told, for the most respect- 
able people cannot live near her. Apparently this 
is the case, for the house was still empty several 
weeks after I had quit, in spite of its unreasonably 
low rent and the beauty of its surroundings. 

A robin came to the back door every morning 
and was fed. Perhaps this time wasted on the 
robin might have been better employed in winning 
the good graces of the landlady. 

What a pity such an eccentric person should have 
such power to receive people as tenants for a few 
days, and then to dismiss them without warning or 
giving any definite reason. And what a harvest her 
idiosyncrasies must be to her solicitors. They even 
followed me up and demanded another week's rent, 
after the expense of moving to the top of a high 

[343] 



The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp 

hill and down again, which, up to the present, I 
have not paid. A lawyer would certainly be a 
lucky man to be allowed control over the interests 
of half a dozen such clients, and he could dress his 
wife and daughters in silk, and thoroughly educate 
his sons on his makings. I have been told that she 
is a deeply religious woman. Therefore, although 
she said in her own heart — "on no account can 
these people live in a villa of mine," she must have 
prayed that room would be reserved for us in the 
many mansions above. 

This chapter should justify itself for the sake of 
the worldly wisdom contained in the simple words 
— "Never live in a house next door to your land- 
lady or landlord;" which deserves to become a 
proverb. Many people might not consider this 
warning necessary, but the hint may be useful to 
poor travellers like myself who, sick of wandering, 
would settle down to the peace and quiet of after 
days. 

Such has been my life, rolling unseen and un- 
noted, like a dark planet among the bright, and at 
last emitting a few rays of its own to show its 
whereabouts, which were kindly received by many 
and objected to by a few, among the latter being 
my late landlady. 

Perhaps I am deceived as to the worth or worth- 
lessness of certain people, but I have given my 
experience of them without exaggeration, describing 

[344] 



A House to Let 

as near as memory makes it possible, things exactly 
as they occurred. I have made no effort to conceal 
my gratitude for those who have befriended me, 
and I have made every effort to conceal bitterness 
against enemies. If I have not succeeded in the 
latter it is with regret, but if I have failed in the 
former, for that am I more truly and deeply sorry. 
If I have appeared ignorant of certain matters I 
claim exception from sin through a lack of prejudice 
which is, after all, the only ignorance that can be 
honestly named with sin. 

These have been my experiences; and if I have 
not omitted to mention trouble of my own making, 
for which no one but myself was to blame, why 
should I omit the mention of others, whom I blame 
for hours more bitter"? People are not to be blamed 
for their doubts, but that they make no effort to 
arrive at the truth. However much people of a 
higher standing may doubt the veracity of certain 
matters, I have the one consolation to know that 
many a poor man, who is without talent or means 
to make his experiences public, knows what I have 
written to be the truth. It is but a poor consolation, 
for such an one is the sufferer, and not the sup- 
porter, and he is powerless in the hands of a stronger 
body. 

THE END 

[345] 



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